The Greater Good
by TheShoelessOne
Summary: [Post DMC] Norrington confronts the pirate within while on a search for the only man who can help him destroy the heart of Davy Jones. Rating changed for combat, mostly. CHAPTER 13 UP!
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Lord Cutler Beckett stared at his guest across the long table. The sway of the sea permitted no candles, and the light of day was waning considerably. The face of his companion was thrown into shadows as dusk swallowed the sea and the H.M.S. _Valor_ along with it. Beckett knew better than to fully trust anyone he asked to his table, but he allowed himself the slightest lull in his defenses when entertaining ex-commodore James Norrington. The man had brought him the heart of Davy Jones himself and had served as a faithful lapdog since then.

Norrington, under the promise given by the letters of mark, had been appointed as a privateer under the jurisdiction of Beckett himself. A captain. Not a commodore. Still, Norrington had never voiced any displeasure with his station. In fact, he was rather zealous, and never lost a shipment. It had been a little over three weeks since Norrington began his employ in the service of the East India Trading Company. The _Valor_ was Beckett's own headship, but it was the faster ship, the _Gorgon_, that he had given to Norrington's command. And how he had used it!

Beckett took a swig of dark wine with an almost-hidden grin. Across from him, hidden in the deepening shadows, was his best man and his biggest threat. He could no more read his face than read his mind, and that was what made him such a dangerous man. Norrington's swath of dark hair fell into his eyes, which were non-chalantly locked on Beckett's. The wig of station was long-gone, but the air of authority could not be washed away. His every command was followed to the letter, lest any midshipman fall to the steady glare of his sharp green eyes. Beckett was wary of those eyes as they settled on his own, as he very well should.

"Captain Norrington," Beckett began, folding his hands neatly before him on the table. This was a business transaction and needed to be treated as such. "I suppose you are wondering why I asked you from the _Gorgon_ this evening?" Norrington's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Certainly not to be subjected to your _lively_ verbiage, Lord Beckett."

_Always toeing the line, James._

"Certainly not," Beckett replied without missing a beat. He raised a hand to call for another serving of wine for the both of them. Norrington watched with a sideways glance as a young woman in a maid's bonnet filled his glass.

"Thank you," he muttered, taking the drink to his lips. She made a slight bow, then moved to light the lanterns hanging around the cabin. The drink was flat against his tongue, having grown accustomed to the hearty, piquant rum left lying anywhere of convenience around the _Black Pearl_. His mouth ran dry at the thought of Sparrow and his pirate crew, the thought of lying in a dirty hammock and staring at the moldy planks above-- and some far-gone part of him was happy.

He hid the feeling away in the breast pocket of his shirt and turned his attentions again to Lord Beckett.

"I have a proposal for you," Beckett said with languid non-commitment. With the same detached air about him, Beckett reached into a satchel at his side to pull out a dirty brown sack that Norrington recognized immediately. He tried his very hardest to ignore it. "Yes, the heart of Davy Jones," he said a little more than admiringly. "A powerful weapon in the right hands." He stared pointedly at Norrington. "_My_ hands are the right hands, Captain."

"Of course," Norrington replied loyally in practiced monotone.

"Trusting this heart to anyone but myself is a folly I am not apt to make. Showing you the location of the heart is in itself a show of the trust I have in you, Captain." He almost placed his hand on the slowly pulsating bag, but resisted. "It is a matter concerning the heart that I wish to ask you to take upon yourself."

Norrington cocked his head and grinned a sarcastic half-smile. He quickly checked himself, linking the gesture to his weeks as a rum-pot deckhand what took orders from pirates. His features fell back into their trained indifference.

"By _ask_, of course, you mean insist, Lord Beckett?"

Beckett smirked haughtily. "Naturally." He trained his fingers around the lip of his wine glass, drawing his speech out purposely. "I have a need to visit the _Flying Dutchman_." Norrington's brows knit perfectly, and Beckett knew that he had the Captain at his mercy. "You see, now that I am in possession of this heart, I am at a loss as to what I must do to make full use of it."

"And you want me to board the _Flying Dutchman_ and speak with Davy Jones on your behalf."

"Quick study. I knew I liked you for a reason, Norrington."

Norrington involuntarily rolled his neck. "I'm not sure whether I should take your compliment or not, Lord Beckett."

"Whether you accept or reject it, I will make your trip worth your time and effort, I assure you."

"Really?" Norrington asked without interest. He paused, then leaned forward slightly. "You haven't told me what you would have me do to get aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, nor what I am to say to Davy Jones when and if I board his ship."

"Your first question is easily answered," Beckett said as he stood. He held the sullied bag containing the heart in one hand, as if weighing it carefully. "Jones will come to wherever the heart waits. I simply inundate the pirate channels with news of the heart's whereabouts and wait for the _Dutchman_ to come to you." He turned quickly to face Norrington, who did not flinch. "You will be waiting there for him, and, as my ambassador, you will state our common predicament, and acquire from him the way to make best use of his heart."

He returned the heart to its satchel, and turned with a broad look of confidentiality. "The second question is where my good faith in you comes in. I trust that whatever it is that you _do_ say to Jones, that we come off the better." He paused, staring down the impassible face of Norrington and losing, as he did every time. "Do I make myself clear?"

Without thinking, all Norrington could mutter was: "Aye."

* * *

A gladly familiar hand pulled Norrington from the longboat and back onto the _Gorgon_. 

"How was your meeting, sir?" Gillette asked naively. Norrington allowed himself less candor on his own ship than he did under the questioning eyes of his superior. He accepted the boat cloak offered to him by the second mate, one Mr. Fredricks, and pulled a cynical grin.

"I appear to have taken on more than I expected." Norrington headed for his cabin, and motioned for Gillette to follow him. The first mate, also a quick study it seemed, asked no more questions in the free air and followed Norrington quietly. Once inside the dim, musty captain's quarters, Gillette took on a quiet air of confidentiality.

"Sir?" At the silence, Gillette pulled up his own chair and sat. "I take it that this meeting wasn't called for dinner at all."

"You are as perceptive as always," Norrington almost laughed, but refrained as he hung the boat cloak on the nearest coat rack. "As usual, the dinner was a ghastly forerunner to a proposition that I would be hard-pressed to ignore, seeing as the man has me captive in a net of my own making."

Gillette decided not to ask what the metaphor was referring to. Norrington removed his hat and hung it over the boat cloak before sitting across the desk from Gillette.

"I am going to need someone I trust," Norrington began plainly. Gillette sat up straighter in his chair. "I trust you very implicitly, Gillette, or else I would not be telling you this." Norrington paused for a long moment, tapping his fingers on the desk before him. He was contemplating something very deeply. Then, his green eyes darted up to Gillette's. "For the months I was not in the navy's employ, I found myself living among pirates. Specifically, I served under Jack Sparrow himself."

Gillette nearly jumped from his chair.

"Captain!" His mouth was pulled wide in surprise. "Sparrow? But the hurricane! What could have led you--"

"Gillette," Norrington snapped. It was no louder than he had been speaking before, but it felt to Gillette as if the man had screamed. He settled back into his seat uneasily. "When you know the lows I've known, then you will see how something as menial as working for Sparrow seems like a Godsend." Norrington ran a nervous hand across his face, feeling the neatly-trimmed facial hair he had been loath to remove. Some part of him needed that connection to the sullied pages of his life.

"How much do you know about Davy Jones?" Norrington asked, calmer. Gillette gave him a mixed glance.

"Next to nothing, I suppose." At least he was honest. "A myth, at best, Captain."

"I assure you, he is much more than myth." His eyes were dark, focused. "You and I are going to give Mr. Jones a visit."

The first mate gave as incredulous a look as he would dare.

"I turned traitor against Sparrow and his crew when I stole the heart of Davy Jones from under them." His eyes traced the callouses of his hand. "I wonder if to this day they know that it was my betrayal, and what it cost them."

"They were _pirates_, Captain."

"Did I fail to mention," Norrington half-growled, as if the whole thing were Gillette's fault, "that Miss Elizabeth Swann was one of those pirates?" The scalding glare given under the half-lidded eyes was burned into Gillette's mind and was never forgotten after that day. Gillette quailed miserably.

"Yes, Captain, you did fail to mention it."

"Well, do not fail to forget it." His ire forgotten almost as soon as it had begun, Norrington continued in a softer tone. "Lord Beckett is in need for me to speak with Jones on his behalf. For, in order for me to secure this position, I turned over the heart to Beckett. With that power, he could control the very seas if he wished to."

"Wait, Captain," Gillette said hopelessly. "This is all very hard for me to swallow."

"When I am walking up the gangplank of the _Flying Dutchman_, we shall see how these myths hold up, Gillette."

A long pause seized them, when Gillette stood from his chair.

"Wherever you go, I follow," Gillette said with what might have been a touch of timidity. Norrington smiled and looked out the windows to where the darkness swallowed both sky and sea.

"I will be glad to have the company."

Gillette left only minutes later, leaving Norrington sitting lonely at his great desk facing the closed door. He stood, rapping his knuckles on the hard wood. In the corner of the cramped room stood Norrington's mirror and water basin. He found himself standing over it, facing himself in the mirror. His reflection had changed more than a bit since he last faced himself in such a mirror in his personal quarters back in Port Royal. He was still as dark as he had been, but his eyes were lighter, his beard trimmed short and tame, and his hair pulled almost neatly back behind his head. Almost. Those few stubborn strands hung into his eyes. He brushed them aside. His hand reached down for the razor at the side of the basin.

He knew it was a useless effort, but he would try again.

The blade was resting only centimeters from his cheek, ready to rid himself of the only link to the darkest chapter in his book. _I am not a pirate_._ I do not need to look like one._ But his hand was frozen. He could no more move it than move the tides. He knotted his brows in frustration. _Why can't I do it? I'm a Captain, a privateer! That part of me is dead._

_I don't want it to die._

A dark, frustrated growl escaped Norrington's lips as, with all his force, he smashed the razor against the perfect mirror in front of him. It cracked, splintering his face a thousand different ways. He stared at those fractured images of himself, ignoring the blood on his knuckles. He saw himself a thousand times and hated every image in every way.

An unexplained fit of rage seized him, and before he could stop himself, he threw the mirror across the cabin, where it crashed against the furthest wall and sent sparkling shards tinkling across the floor. He backed into the wall, useless and bleeding. He slid slowly to the floor, knees pulled close and watched the blood leak from his good hand. It was another minute before Gillette burst back in. Norrington watched his approach with empty eyes.

"You there, close that door!" Gillette ordered a sailor, who complied immediately. The first mate turned back to his captain, taking out a kerchief and offering it to the bleeding hand. Norrington wordlessly took it. "Captain?"

"I am weak," Norrington muttered. His eyebrows raised listlessly as he wrapped the kerchief around his knuckles. "Not enough pirate."

As if suddenly coming back to himself, Norrington stood on his own, inspecting his room as if some other rogue had smashed his mirror. He tied the knot tight around his hand.

"Mr. Gillette, tomorrow we meet with Lord Beckett on the _Valor_ to receive our briefing on the Jones expedition."

"Captain, are you sure..." He stood as well, matching Norrington's stance. The look in Norrington's eyes assured Gillette that he was sure. "Right. When are we to take the longboat over?"

"Seven bells," Norrington answered, inspecting the reddening cloth pulled tight on his wound. "I will meet you on deck at six bells." Deflating for a moment, he gestured toward the kerchief on his hand. "Thank you."

"Sir," Gillette gave a small head-nod, and retreated from the captain's cabin. Norrington stretched his fingers to test their strength and set his eyes on the broken mirror across the cabin. He harrumphed and gave it a short smirk before moving to clean it from the floor.

* * *

AN: Okay, to start off, this is a pseudo-sequel to "Philosophy Lesson" inasmuch as it hints at some things said and done in that story. You don't really have to read it to get this one, but it may heighten the experience some. Nextly, it seems a lot of people are putting Gillette in their Norry fics, and I feel like I'm jumping on the bandwagon a bit here-- but I wanted someone Norry could trust, and his old pal seemed a good fit. Hope everyone was in-character enough. I'm hoping to continue this for a while if anyone wants me to, because I just love writing about Norrington. And don't worry. All I'll say is that not all is as it seems in this fic! Hope you enjoy-- Happy reading!  



	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Just five minutes after six bells, Gillette walked out of the officer's quarters, still buttoning his jacket. Not seeing the captain on deck yet, he allowed himself to survey the _Gorgon_ minutely. She was a smaller ship-- not unlike the _Interceptor_, but Gillette preferred not to dredge up memories of the beloved ship. The _Gorgon_ was, he thought, inappropriately named. She was a lovely ship, new rigging reaching to the highest spar, fresh paint coating the railing on each side of the ship. Being a ship of His Majesty's Navy retired to work in the East India Trading Company, she had seen battle. Those who knew her every line were proud of the few scars she had left to show-- bullet holes in the mast, and a still broken spar on the mizzen were slight inconveniences that seemed to hearten the men for some reason. Being a man of the navy himself, Gillette smirked whenever he passed those scars.

Now his gaze fell beyond the foredeck and onto the calm blue sea before them. The fingers of dawn were stretching across the horizon, illuminating the stark white sails of the ships surrounding the _Gorgon_. The head ship, Beckett's own _Valor_, headed the procession. Next followed the trade ships _Intrepid_ and _Apollo_, each carrying its share of profits from their joint voyage. The _Gorgon _had joined the pseudo-armada two days ago at the signed request of Lord Beckett-- no doubt concerning Norrington and whatever bargain the two had come to. Gillette still doubted the story of Davy Jones' heart, but he knew that Norrington was not one to openly lie. The _Valor_ was easily the largest of the four, and so the two trader ships took after her build. But the _Gorgon_ was different-- sleeker and smaller.

Built for war, but serving a much lesser purpose.

With a start, Gillette realized that this applied to Captain Norrington as much as it did to his ship.

As he thought this, the captain stepped from his cabin and onto the deck. From his position near the wheel, Gillette saw the worry that had situated itself under the eyes of his captain. The fresh morning breeze stirred his coat jacket, and he placed his balled fists on the port-side railing, staring out to sea. Norrington's eyes were fixed on the _Valor_, staring contemptuously with a weak constitution. Gillette began his descent to meet Norrington where he stood. He turned as the first mate approached, but no inflection on his features told of either ire, gladness or even apathy.

"Gillette," he began, his voice telling of a sleepless night. "I am sorry to have kept you. Did you wait long?"

"No, sir." He paused, feeling as if he had stumbled on a conversation he was not meant to hear. "I'll order the longboat ready." He moved off faster than he had planned, heading toward some idling midshipmen. Norrington watched his progress for a short time, then turned again to the sea. Directly off port, long away, sailed the _Apollo_. Her colors were flying brilliantly, speaking of the wealth they'd brought in for Beckett and his damned company. He grinned, thinking off-handedly of the _Black Pearl_ coming up along the _Apollo_ and firing a broadside against her hull.

He was even more surprised when he wasn't angry with himself over the candid thought.

Norrington painfully tried to rub the sleep-- or lack thereof-- from his tired eyes and returned his gaze to the sea.

_Where would Sparrow and his crew be now?_ he wondered. _Would Jones' crew have caught up with them?_ He smiled to himself. _Would I have liked to see the look on Sparrow's face when he found the heart missing..._ His smile faded. _What of Elizabeth? _

"Captain Norrington," Gillette's voice broke into his thoughts, and he turned. "The longboat is ready, sir."

Norrington nodded wordlessly. Gillette cornered him with a concerned look.

"You haven't slept."

"Brilliant observation, Gillette," Norrington said, brushing the man away with a sweep of his arm. "Now, I would rather arrive early than late to our briefing . Lord Beckett is adamant on keeping appointments, let me assure you."

"... Sir," Gillette answered hesitantly. The two men headed for the longboat that had been lowered down the starboard side. The wind was being spilled from the _Valor_'s sails as it prepared to allow the men to board. Norrington turned to the balding second mate, Fredricks.

"Mr. Fredricks, you are to act in my stead while Mr. Gillette and I are aboard the _Valor_. I trust your judgement, and that you will know the consequences of your failure." He lowered himself down the side of the ship before Fredricks could salute. Gillette followed him. Sitting beside the oarlocks were two men that Norrington recognized from his crew, but could not, for the life of him, remember their names. One was young, hardly old enough to serve-- perhaps some young relation of Beckett's sent to sea to appease a suffering parent. The other was a face hardly seen but very distinctive, with the long scar completely obscuring his right eye. Norrington made no show of disgust-- he had seen far worse in his time as a pirate. Gillette sat beside him as the longboat was pushed off from the side of the _Gorgon_ and began rowing for the _Valor_, which had just dropped anchor. Norrington could hear the other three ships answer almost in unison with their own anchors. Soon, he and his longboat were the only moving objects as far as the bend of the horizon could tell.

Strange hands pulled up the captain and the first mate of the _Gorgon_. Norrington brushed off his coat and motioned for Gillette to follow him toward Beckett's personal cabin. He straightened the cuffs of his sleeves as well as his collar, which hugged his neck more than he would have liked. Gillette followed his motions as Norrington rapped loudly on the wide doors. The woman in a maid's bonnet, the same from the night before, greeted the two men at the door.

"You're early," she said almost timidly, but allowed them passage. "Lord Beckett was expecting you at seven bells."

"I am not a man to wait," he said stiffly, cracking his neck slightly before battle. "Excuse me," he said to the woman, and he and Gillette entered the cabin. The doors, their retreat, closed behind them. Sunlight poured through the wide open windows encompassing the entire back wall of Beckett's cabin. The man himself sat at his magnificent desk, inspecting charts with a compass in hand. He did not glance up as the men entered.

"I said seven bells," he droned, his voice indicating he did not care whether it was seven bells or the dead of night. In the silence that followed, a deckhand rang the brass bell seven consecutive times. Norrington's cocky grin got the best of him, and he crossed his arms defiantly.

"Seven bells, _sir_."

Beckett looked up with lazy eyes. "Impeccable timing, Captain." His eyes moved from Norrington's face to Gillette's who was fiddling with a cufflink behind his back. "Good morning, Mr. Gillette. I trust _you_ had a pleasant sleep?"

Norrington's smile soured, and Gillette ceased his fiddling at once.

"Sir?" He asked, for clarification. But Beckett had moved on, and was standing behind his desk.

"Last night," Beckett droned in his unvarying voice, "I set in motion the plan that you and your men are to carry out within the next few days." He began to toy with the objects on his deck, slightly shifting the position of the compass, flicking at the curling edges of a map, his fingers dallying around a drawer that no doubt held the pistol he kept near him at all times. "You are to take the _Gorgon_ and sail to Isla Asilo west of Tortuga." He rolled up one of the maps on his desk and handed it to Gillette. "You will find it well marked on this map." He turned on heel, hands clasped behind his back, to stare out at the sea. It was clear and sparkling in the rising sun of the Caribbean.

Gillette handed the map to Norrington, who unrolled it just enough to find the mark in black ink where the Isla Asilo lay. He glanced up over the edge of the map as Beckett continued.

"I have sent word through a known pirate channel that this is where the heart is waiting, and its new owner is willing to negotiate with Jones to ensure that nothing happens to the heart." Beckett glimpsed Gillette's strange expression and seized his opportunity. "Seeing is believing, is it, Mr. Gillette?"

Before Gillette could answer, Beckett was holding the bag once again. It was still beating as healthily as the day Jones tore it from his own chest. Beckett admired it, turning it to see it at every angle. Gillette watched it amazement, unable to take his eyes from the pulsating bag that Norrington had carried against his chest for days until Beckett's ship had found him adrift. Norrington took a deep breath and re-rolled the map quickly.

"Yes, we know that you have the heart," Norrington said with agitation. "If all we need is this map, then we will be on our way." Beckett, the upper hand taken from him at the crucial moment, set the heart back on his desk with a huff.

"Impatience never won a war, Captain."

"Is it a war we are starting, then, Lord Beckett?"

Beckett lowered his brows defensively against the onslaught brought on by the accusing eyes of Captain James Norrington. The air grew tense, and even Gillette felt uneasy as the two leviathans battled to best the other without saying a word. Finally, Beckett turned again to the window.

"Norrington, you are to take the _Gorgon_ to Isla Asilo. Jones will come. I know him better than you think."

"As you know Jack Sparrow?" Norrington challenged. He could feel Beckett's smug grin even if he couldn't see it. Beckett turned only to show his profile.

"Sparrow is dead," he said coldly. Norrington held a long breath, then continued.

"And how I bargain with Jones is up to me?"

"I offer to protect the heart as long as Jones is willing to follow my command." He felt stronger suddenly, and he faced Norrington fully again. "Somewhat like yourself, actually."

Norrington pulled his lips tight in a straight line across his face. He lowered his head slightly, never taking his eyes off of Beckett's. "Sir," he said, then turned toward the door. Gillette moved to follow him, but Beckett raised a hand in the air to stop him.

"Mr. Gillette, can I trust you to keep an eye on our friend Captain Norrington?" Gillette saw Beckett's fingers twitch as they sat atop his coin purse on the desk. The first mate watched Beckett carefully, before sighing, looking to the money again, and nodding infinitesimally. A grin to match Norrington's flashed across Beckett's features. "Good man." He tossed the coin purse in Gillette's direction, and he caught it mechanically and followed Norrington out to the doors they had come in through. Beckett sat behind his desk once again, checking the compass and inking in another spot on his map.

_Sparrow dead?_

Norrington stared straight forward as the coxswain turned to boat away from the _Valor, Apollo _and _Intrepid._ They were headed back toward Tortuga. A place Norrington knew well. Or, rather less-than-well, remembering that he had been drunk most of the time spent there. He'd been hired there, by Sparrow himself. He and Elizabeth.

_Good God! If Sparrow is dead..._

He tried his hardest not to think about it.

He tried instead to think about the three day passage to Isla Asilo. The weather was fair and he had the assurance of Davy Jones' heart locked safely away in Beckett's personal safe. The map was well-marked and the wind was at their backs.

But he could not keep the dread from creeping up his spine. Beckett knew more than he was letting on. Either that or he was bluffing about Sparrow just to rile him. Ruffle his feathers to keep him in line. He ran a hand through his hair, loosing more from where it was tied behind his head. He couldn't trust Beckett with much of anything, but could he take his word on Sparrow?

_If Sparrow is dead, then Elizabeth..._

Norrington broke from the railing and stormed across the deck to the door of his cabin. He shouted at a crewman who was doing a fine job to hurry up and loose the sails. The door to his cabin was thrust violently open and jammed shut with as much force. Once there, noting the crumpled mirror frame sitting dejectedly in a corner, Norrington began to pace. He was no stranger to pacing-- at least, the Commodore had known the paths quite well. As for the piece of himself that refused to die, that grimy, almost half-human part of him that still slept in the hold of the _Black Pearl_, _he_ had never had the taste for pacing. Rum has a way of discouraging a body from walking in any sense. This only increased the fervor of his pacing. He wished to God he had a stiff drink.

_If Sparrow is dead, then Elizabeth may well be dead, too. You imbecile! Raving, mad imbecile, you hand-picked her death and fed it to her! Treason against a pirate is still treason-- you've killed her!_

Norrington held a hand against his pounding head. Beckett was lying. He had to be. Norrington knew Sparrow well enough to know he wouldn't go do easily. And he knew Elizabeth and Turner well enough to know that they would go with him if they could.

"Even if Sparrow is dead, how am I to know the fault lies with me?" Norrington asked the air around him. His own mind answered for him.

_You knew Jones was after him. After the _Black Pearl! _Damn you, Elizabeth was on that ship! Do not deny that you still love her, for you know it to be a bold-faced lie._

"No," Norrington shook his head. "Elizabeth isn't dead. Sparrow maybe, but not Elizabeth." He stopped his pacing suddenly, believing every word he'd just said. Closing his eyes and lowering himself down onto his bed slowly, he repeated it to himself. "Elizabeth is not dead."

Norrington informed Gillette not to let any sailor into his cabin until they reached the port at Isla Asilo. He had too much on his mind, he said, and he trusted Gillette to get them there safely. Gillette absently fingered the coin purse that lay heavy in his pocket before ordering another sail be loosed.

* * *

AN: Ah! Twists already! I'd like to thank my reviewers who encourage me to go on. I hope I keep living up to expectations! It'll get more exciting later, I promise! Next chapter... Davy Jones!  



	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Three fine sailing days in cramped quarters later, Captain Norrington stood on the forecastle, staring straight out at the sky-blue sea and the white sands of Isla Asilo. He didn't know a lick of Spanish, but if he had, he would find the name appropriate. It was an island no bigger than Isla Cruces, by the look of it, but a bright, shining port town greeted their eyes, which disappeared into thick, rick jungle. Norrington pulled out his spyglass and inspected the port. Strange... No ships tied up at the wharf.

"Gillette," he called, and his first mate was soon at his side. "Does the map indicate the name of this port?" Gillette pulled out the map and inspected it shortly.

"It says 'Port Tenable,' but it seems to be translated from Spanish and may not be entirely correct." Gillette raised an eyebrow and reached for his own spyglass.

"I don't like the look of it," Norrington muttered, sweeping his eye over the seemingly empty buildings. He collapsed his eyeglass and returned it to his pocket. "Stay out to sea-- drop anchor if you need to." He strode away to the mainmast and began shouting orders to lower the longboat. Gillette followed.

"Sir, where are you off to?" Gillette asked. Norrington turned with a furrow in his brow.

"Ashore. You will stay here to command the ship in my leave." He turned again to the longboat. Gillette remained.

"I'll go with you, sir," he said with a shred of authority.

"I will not takes chances with my ship, Mr. Gillette. One of us must remain aboard should Jones appear at sea rather than make berth." The splash of a longboat reached his ears, and he turned to climb down the side of the ship to it. Gillette hastily grabbed his arm.

"Then_ I'll_ go ashore, Captain."

Norrington stared searching at Gillette, who shifted nervously under the powerful gaze.

"Do you perchance know something that I do not, Gillette?" Norrington asked. His inferior dragged his eyes anywhere but to where Norrington's burned in his skull. In dark undertones, Gillette began:

"Jones will not make berth. He cannot set foot on land for another ten years. Lord Beckett... warned me to make for land as soon as possible." He finally made eye contact, and regretted it. The betrayal was deep-set in Norrington's eyes. He took a deep breath and spun to face the sea as he exhaled in frustration.

"Then go ashore. I'm sure he _paid_ you well enough to be a coward." His jaw was clenched, and his stomach rolled. So this was what treachery felt like, did it? It was a bit like the bitter taste of rum on an empty stomach. Gillette said nothing, and neither did his Captain. Pushing past others, Gillette moved toward the longboat, but paused before lifting himself over. He did his best to face Norrington, who held the helpless, angry visage of a man in turmoil.

"Captain," he said, barreling through without thought, "he asked me to make sure _you_ didn't do anything to endanger his hold on the heart. I am telling you this now so that you may speak with Jones in your _own_ interests. I do not know if he was lying about Sparrow, but you were in his council for quite some time. If you're ever to get the heart from Beckett, Sparrow is your man." Norrington inspected him shortly, with surprise.

"You--"

"Betrayal is hard enough, Captain, when done willingly to one man. I do it now to two, one of whom I respect very much." He seemed to want to say something more. He held his tongue, however, and climbed down into the longboat. Norrington crossed his arms as he watched Gillette and two oarsmen row to the empty port, wondering who, in fact, Gillette had betrayed.

The men in the longboat had long disappeared into town. Norrington sat on deck, the sun beating down at midday strength. Many of the men had gone below, those still above deck there only by necessity. The captain kept his eyeglass near him, ready to be used at any moment. At present, he was untying the kerchief from around his knuckles. The blood had clotted-- thank God there had been no glass in his wound. He ran a thumb over the cuts, wincing slightly. He wondered what the _Flying Dutchman_ was like, whether its captain was more monster than man, and whether he might know the fate of the _Black Pearl_ and its crew. He held a hand to his mouth in thought, scanning the horizon for the hint of a sail. Nothing.

Nothing save the rumble of activity below decks.

Norrington shot to his feet in the sudden realization that the rumble was not from his own crew. A sinking dread filled him, and he braced himself against the nearest line.

"All hands!" He called, his sharp voice carrying down to the hold. "All hands! On deck, _now_!" As the rumbling grew steadier, the men poured up from the _Gorgon_'s belly, all shouting to each other the actions they were to take.

Norrington's hair hung into his wide eyes as he saw the terrifying, heart-stopping sight of the _Flying Dutchman_ breeching from the depths just inside cannon range.

The waves sent flying by the enormous ship leaping to the surface crashed against the starboard side of the _Gorgon_, rocking her violently back and forth. Men clung to whatever rope they could find or were flung like garbage into the sea. Norrington grasped his line with whatever strength he possessed. The stench of the deep sea, rotting wood and death wafted over the deck of the _Gorgon_ as the mammoth ship settled onto the surface of the water. Cries of "Man overboard!" fell on the captain's deaf ears as he watched the wind catch in the algae sails of the _Dutchman_. She was making her way to him. The spray of the waves fell on his numb face. He could think or feel nothing, only see the horror approaching swiftly-- and against the wind.

"Captain!" cried the scar-faced man he could not remember. "What are our orders, Captain?"

Norrington's mouth could not have moved had he wanted it to.

Fredricks took charge, ordering the sails loosed and the cannons run out. Finally, Norrington found his voice.

"No!" he cried. Fredricks turned incredulously to him. "It's the _Flying Dutchman_. He is here to speak with me."

"Sir, the longboat--"

"I have a feeling that I will be the once receiving _him_," Norrington muttered with a shaking breath. The water swelled around the prow of the _Dutchman_ as she approached the _Gorgon_ at full speed. Norrington's mind was filled suddenly with the horrors that had attacked him at Isla Cruces. Half creature, half man, fused into one abomination to serve one man and one man only-- Davy Jones. The _Dutchman_ pulled her broadside up against his, rolling out the cannons and furling the sails. The anchor, barnacle-encrusted, sank to the depths with a crunch and a dash of sea water. The crew hid somewhere behind Norrington, who swallowed his fear as best he could and set his features against the challenge before him.

Gangplanks were lowered noisily between the two ships, and soon as they had touched down, those damned souls that called themselves sailors crossed over, swords and other assorted weapons drawn. Norrington reached instinctively for his own weapon-- it had been returned by Beckett as a way to seal their deal. It slid from its sheath effortlessly, pointing at the nearest pirate, which appeared to be some hell-bred cross of shark and man.

"Weapons _down_!" The shark-man bellowed, and his men followed in accordance, though their eyes still gleamed with promise of death. Norrington in turn lowered his sword, but only just. The shark-headed man turned again to the crew of the _Gorgon_. They shivered at his two gazes. "Which o' you lot is Norrington?" Norrington felt his stomach drop out.

"I am," he said simply. The creature before him grinned sardonically, its razor teeth jutting out in every direction.

"Well, you're about t' have the great pleasure o' Davy Jones 'imself boardin' yer ship,_ Mr. Norrington_." He turned his head only slightly to shout: "All _clear_!" The rabble of water-logged voices suddenly quieted to allow the sound of a single, dull footstep echoing through the timbers of the _Dutchman_. The sun was swallowed by a dark cloud that Norrington had failed to see, and the cursed crew was thrown into half-light. It was all too perfect, for that was the moment Davy Jones chose to make his entrance.

Norrington had never seen anything of the like, and hoped to God he would never have to see such again. Squid-like tentacles drooped around Jones' face like a beard, curling and twitching of their own accord. His staring blue eyes were deep-set and furious, a long-stemmed pipe hanging out of the side of his mouth as if Norrington had interrupted _him_. A plume of smoke rose from the pipe-- freshly lit. Every inch of Jones belong to the sea, and the sea belonged to him. Sea life had been growing on his person for what may have been centuries. One claw-like hand hung by his side, and the other, long and tentacle-like as well, moved to take the pipe from his mouth. It was a crab-like leg that pounded the deck with every other step as he crossed the gangplank and sauntered to stand directly before Norrington.

The intimidation pressed down on his chest as if Jones had been sitting upon him instead of his eyes boring into his soul. Then, against all reasoning, Jones smiled, showing bright teeth.

"Well, Mr. Norrington," he drawled in a voice Norrington had not been expecting, "seems you have something that I'd dearly like back."

Norrington swallowed nervously, watching the twitching tentacles warily. Jones stared, having all the time in the world, it seemed, to terrorize the captain.

"I am here to negotiate," Norrington began in the strongest voice he could muster, "on the behalf of my employer."

"Are ye now?" Jones asked as he drew again from his pipe. Norrington gave a disgusted look and summoned more nerve.

"My employer, Lord Cutler Beckett, has threatened to stab your heart clean through if you do not follow his command."

The cursed pirates began to laugh, but Jones cut them off with a hiss. His eyes were dark coals at that point, threatening any man to stoke them.

"I'm listenin', Mr. Norrington," he growled. He scanned the deckhands all standing uselessly behind Norrington. "And which o' these scalawags is your Lord Beckett, then?"

"He's a coward," Norrington said gruffly, his ire redirecting itself, "who refuses to show himself and uses others in his stead." Davy Jones cocked his head, and leaned closer until he was parallel with Norrington's eyes. The latter flinched backwards, but realized that his back was against the mainmast. Jones blew smoke in his general direction.

"I've known me fair share o' cowards, t' be told, Mr. Norrington." He used the name as if in mockery. "What does yer man Beckett think of negotiations with a pirate such as meself?"

"He is a man of bargain," Norrington answered, not feeling the direction the conversation had taken. Against the wind. That's how the _Dutchman_ takes you. Jones grinned, and a low laugh began in his chest and rumbled through him. It overtook him as he began to convulse, stepping backwards and laughing openly toward his crew. With a quick turn, tentacles swaying menacingly, he faced Norrington.

"A man 'o bargain, is he? Well, then--" Jones pulled a sword from his side and let the tip dance at the tip of Norrington's neck. He was still chuckling almost ridiculously. "We'll see what you're worth to 'im, laddie. I'm prepared to have my heart back, the cost be damned." Norrington's sword was still hanging in his hand by his side, but with so many possible weapons to be drawn against him, he decided to leave it where it lay. Jones nodded a head toward the crew, who shrank from his gaze. "Them too. All of ye, to the brig!"

Jones' crew surged forward, taking Norrington's men, screaming, over the gangplanks and back to the _Flying Dutchman_. Norrington attempted to move forward, but Jones brandished his sword threateningly.

"Oh, no, Mr. Norrington. Ye'll not be visitin' the brig, my friend. Ye'll be accompanyin' me on deck. If I'm t' find your Lord Beckett I'll be neadin' a headin'."

_If you're ever to get the heart from Beckett, Sparrow is your man._

"Beckett has the entire branch of the British Royal Navy stationed in the Caribbean behind him," Norrington told him covertly. "A crew of pirates, even cursed as they are, are no match for an entire navy, _Mr. Jones._" Jones snorted angrily at the context, but remained focused. The sword also remained fixed on Norrington's jugular. "He will have returned to land by now, in the safety of a fort, surrounded on three sides by a port containing a floating armada ready to dispatch of you and your crew. If Beckett knows you are coming--" Norrington plunged his sword into the wooden planks of the deck below him to solidify his point. Jones sneered, but something in his eyes saw Norrington's truth.

"So what would ye have me do, Mr. Norrington?" The formality was almost stifling.

"You need to infiltrate without combat. What you need is a small band of men to steal into the fort and take the heart from under Beckett's sleeping nose."

"You'd have me send ye into the fort from whence you came, trustin' ye to return with the heart?" Jones inspected Norrington with a wary yet sharp eye. Norrington grinned against the fear boiling up his throat.

"No," he answered with a smug grin. "You need Jack Sparrow."

* * *

Norrington had ended up in the brig after all.

He had refused to give up the heading for Beckett's base of opperations, and so Jones had thrown him in a cell opposite his crew. He said that word would reach Beckett of Norrington's imprisonment, and if he wanted to speak with Jones, he should come himself. Norrington had been assured they would not dive with the prisoners in the hold, and that had been the only comforting thought given to them that night. The lanterns creaked as the boat swayed back and forth in the night air. Norrington had forgotten his pocket watch in his cabin, and was therefore without a sense of time. Only the cracks in the deck above shed miniscule light, allowing for recognition of night and day. Now it was night, and Norrington's only cellmate hadn't made a noise or moved in the five hours he'd been down there.

Seeing the majority of his crew fallen into a fear-induced sleep, Norrington was forced to turn to his cellmate. He walked cautiously to the man's side, only to see that his skin was blue and lifeless. The captain stepped backwards in fear before he noticed the shallow breathing the body emitted at intervals. The man finally raised his head, long black hair falling from beneath a knitted sailor's cap, familiar eyes meeting his for the first time.

"You look lost," the man said in a throaty, grief-stained voice. Norrington nodded, seeing the sea-life already taking hold of the man's face and body. Barnacles grew without remorse on his clothes or skin regardless.

_Am I to become something like this if Beckett refuses?_

"Yes," Norrington replied, then shook his head. "No, I mean--" What did he mean? The man extended a crusty hand.

"Bill Turner," he offered, "but most call me Bootstrap."

"Turner?" Norrington asked incredulously. He'd known those eyes-- Turner's! He decided to let the topic go for the moment. He could always bring it back later. Norrington took the proffered hand and shook. "Norrington. Captain James Norrington." Bootstrap Bill Turner grinned ever-so-slightly.

"Captain, huh? What have you done to end up here, Captain Norrington?"

"I refused to give Jones the bearings he asked for," Norrington replied, remaining vague. Bootstrap nodded solemnly.

"You're lucky he didn't have you gutted then and there, that's for sure." He looked at his barnacle-encrusted hand, then swore lightly. "Damn, I wish I had a drink."

"We share a common interest," Norrington sighed as he settled on the grimy planks beside Bootstrap. Strangely, he felt almost at home, looking about him and seeing the familiar hold of the _Pearl_. Bootstrap was watching his gaze.

"Something familiar about it, isn't there?" Bootstrap asked. Norrington nodded vaguely. "That's what everyone says."

The night tore on, the conversation falling into more lulls than it did topics. Norrington was nearing sleep when he let his question fall to the proverbial battle ground.

"Turner," he said, catching Bootstrap's attention. "You wouldn't happen to know a William Turner? From Port Royal?"

Bootstrap's pale face turned even paler, and he hung his head almost to his knees.

"He was my son." Then Norrington saw the flames of vengeance rising in Bootstrap's eyes. "I watched as Davy Jones' Kraken dragged my only son to the locker." He ran a shuddering hand over his face. "William Turner is dead."

Norrington stared at the briny planks in dumbfounded astonishment. _Sparrow dead-- Turner dead... Elizabeth...?_

"My God," Norrington breathed helplessly. "I've killed them all."

Merciful sleep did not take him that night.

* * *

AN: Boy howdy, I sure hope I got good ol' Davy right. He's a difficult one to pin down, that's fer sher. Still hoping I'm getting everyone right. Thanks to my readers again-- it helps to know that_ someone's_ happy. :D Happy reading!  



	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Norrington had closed his eyes in attempts to grasp any semblance of sleep, sitting on the moldy planks and leaning his weary head against the rusty steel bars of the door to his cell. He wished for many things at that point, sleep being perhaps the highest on his list.

_Not the highest._

He wished that Gillette, at least, had been with him. A battered soul with companionship is far better than a soul on its own. He wished that he could offer consolation to his crewmen, innocent bystanders whose lives were now forfeit because of a madman's arrogance.

_Not the highest._

Norrington fought hard against the emotions rising in his throat, screwing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth. He wished that he knew of Elizabeth's fate, whether it mirrored that of Sparrow, of Turner. He wished that he could have done anything to save her.

_But I could have. _That_ is the highest._

He wished now to whatever God was watching over him that he had never taken that damned heart. He wished that he had never even set eyes upon it, or even heard its name. He wished that he had never handed it over to the fool Beckett, never betrayed those few friends that he'd had left in this world.

His injured hand unthinkingly lashed out and clanged against the rusty bars, eliciting a painful cry from Norrington, who clutched his hand to his chest.

_Weak._

His fist clutched tighter and tighter in his bubbling rage.

_Not enough pirate._

Not anymore.

He turned fierce eyes on an approaching figure. One of the cursed sailors was coming with a filthy tray of something in each hand. Norrington forced himself to stand, tired joints creaking. One tray was shoved under the door of his crew's cell, while the other clanged onto the floor just outside the slot under Norrington's door. He looked up from the disgusting slop to the face of the pirate, who looked something like a prawn with long, twitching feelers.

"Bilge fer th' bilge-rats, eh?" He grinned hideously before crackling off toward the deck again. Norrington's crew were still in-and-out of fickle sleep, and his only cellmate appeared to be less interested in food than dredging up memories of his only son. Norrington eyed the "food" cautiously, but it appeared to be only a dirty seafood amalgamation that, while hard on the eyes, nose and mouth, would likely ease some unrest in his stomach.

Falling straight back into old routines of piracy, Norrington took the tray, settled down beside the silent Bootstrap, and took a pinch of food between his fingers. He offered the tray to Bootstrap.

"You need to eat." It was most definitely not a request, and, on some level, it registered with Bootstrap. He acknowledged the captain with a thankful nod, then copied his primitive substitute for silverware. They dug through the meager serving together, not speaking a word between them. But each could feel the others' thoughts. Without even an introduction, Bootstrap turned to Norrington with almost a fatherly eye.

"Don't even bother. I've already tried picking the lock." Bootstrap gave a gruff sigh and stared at the bars before them in more irritation than actual anger. Norrington doubted that he could feel much of anything without his son--

"There must be something we can do beside sit around and wallow in shame." Norrington stood again, cleaning his hands on the hem of his immaculately blue uniform.

Pausing, Norrington reflected on the meaning of this uniform-- a privateer for Lord Cutler Beckett, no more, he felt, than a common slave. He inspected the gold trimming, his station as Captain a bold statement shoved in the face of the world. He let out a calm breath, and with it, slid the jacket off his shoulders. Underneath he had only his plain white shirt, and dark trousers covered by knee-high boots. It was strangely freeing, and Norrington felt his best sarcastic grin set itself on his lips. He turned to Bootstrap, checking the knot on the kerchief around his knuckles.

"I have a plan," he began. "I do not want to involve you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. You have no need for more trouble, especially not on my behalf."

"You're too kind," Bootstrap murmured with a half-grin. Norrington hung one hand on a rusted bar and hung his head.

"Not as much as I should like, I'm afraid." He met Bootstrap's eyes. "I was on the _Black Pearl_ with your son and Jack Sparrow." Bootstrap's spine stiffened. Norrington leaned against the bars of his prison. "Sparrow was after the heart of Davy Jones to negotiate his debt. Turner--" He cut himself off, feeling the last name of his cellmate's son too cold a gesture. "William was also in search of the heart. Something about a promise."

"Oh, William..." Bootstrap muttered, his hand to his face. Then he pulled back straight. "Wait. Aboard the _Black Pearl_? You saw my son?" Norrington stared unblinkingly at the crustacean-infested man.

"We met on Isla Cruces," Norrington said with a raised eyebrow. Bootstrap's perpetual frown pulled back into a hopeful smile.

"The Kraken didn't take him... William could still be alive!" He stood suddenly. "What happened after Isla Cruces? Is William alive?" Norrington felt something catch in his throat. Bootstrap's enthusiasm waned slightly.

"I took the heart straight from under them." He shook his head, filled to the brim with self-loathing. "I took the heart for my own selfish advancement. I traded the heart to _Lord_ Cutler Beckett for a pardon--" he took a breath, facing the man beside him, "--that should have been your son's. I do not know what happened to them after Isla Cruces. I drew off the sailors of the _Dutchman_ so that they might escape... but to what end? I had Davy Jones' heart..." He trailed off miserably, staring at the sadness now taking over Bootstrap's eyes. "... and I intend to have it back."

"What would _you_ do with the heart?" Bootstrap asked, hovering between relief at news of his son's escape with death and sudden mistrust of his secretive cellmate. Norrington nodded knowingly.

"I myself have no need for it. But I know of a man who deserves to plunge a knife straight through it." He met Bootstrap's steady gaze. "Before I can attempt to take the heart back from Beckett, however, I need the help of Jack Sparrow."

Bootstrap's almost hopeful gaze fell again.

"You've not heard, then." Bootstrap sat again on the filthy planks beside Norrington's abandoned jacket. "Davy Jones' Kraken took down the _Black Pearl _along with Captain Jack Sparrow. Only one longboat escaped."

_Sparrow dead-- but Turner and Elizabeth...?_

Norrington set his eyes on the crumpled blue jacket at his feet, then set one hand on the empty scabbard at his side.

"Then I believe I have a need to find your son."

* * *

The prawn-faced pirate came down the stairs again when the sun shone through the cracks on the deck. Norrington guessed that it was nearly noon. His shipmates were all awake, save for the young lad that had rowed him to the _Valor_ four days previous. He was still knocked cold in a dread-induced stupor. 

The prawn moved to throw a tray down for the _Gorgon_'s crew, grinning still at his joke from that morning. "Bilge for bilge-rats," he muttered gigglingly to himself

The words caught dangerously in his throat as a strong arm reached through the bars behind him and wrapped around his throat. Captain James Norrington pulled the creature violently back against the cell bars and tightened his arm's grip on it's throat. The prawn-man gasped for breath, his feelers twitching and hands clawing uselessly at Norrington's arm.

"The keys, if you don't mind," Norrington growled pleasantly into what he supposed was the thing's ear. He shook his grotesque head, which caused Norrington to increase the pressure around it's throat. "It was not what I would call a request."

The keys shook in the creature's hand as they were taken from his belt loop and fell to the floor just outside the slot in the bottom of the door. Norrington reached them with his foot and kicked them to his side of the door. Once there, he hissed quietly in the creature's ear: "Give me a reason not to snap your neck."

It gave no reason, only a shuddering movement. Norrington held his arm over the creature's windpipe only a few moments longer before his air gave out and he collapsed. Norrington let him flop to the ground and retrieved the keys. Bootstrap gave a dry laugh.

"Now, why hadn't I thought of that?"

Norrington clicked the key in his lock before turning his head over his shoulder. "You have nowhere to go." He stood in the open doorway for only a moment. "Are you sure--?"

"Go. You're right," he gave a low chuckle, "I have nowhere to go." He nodded his head toward the unconscious prawn-creature. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Norrington caught his eye.

"If your son is alive, I will find him."

Bootstrap smiled in what might be deemed a warm way. "Good luck redeeming yourself, pirate."

Norrington's mouth hung slightly ajar, until he shut it tightly. He could find nothing to say. So he locked Bootstrap in his cell and proceeded to unlock his comrades from the cell across from him. They thankfully remained quiet so as not to arouse suspicions. The scar-faced man was carrying the young lad over one shoulder, shaking Norrington's hand generously.

"Thank you, Captain Norrington," he said in a rough voice.

"We're not out of this yet," he muttered in return. "What I need is to know where our weapons are stored."

Suddenly, the boy woke from where he was situated on the scarred man's shoulder.

"Sir," he said, wiggling his way free of the man's grip. Norrington assessed his age to be around ten. The lad pulled a dagger from a small sheath around his ankle. "They didn't take this." His childish eyes were filled with a burning hope. Norrington took the offering, turning it over in his hands. Looking up, he inspected the two.

"What are your names, sailors?" He asked. The lad looked at the elder man, then spoke first.

"I'm Samuel McCormick, and his name is Harry Buckler." The boy was eager for a fight. _So much like myself at his age._ Norrington shook the thought from his head and stood again.

"Samuel, when the time for danger comes, you are to stay with me no matter the consequences that befall our actions."

"Aye!" Samuel said enthusiastically. Norrington grinned as he stood over the prawn sailor once again.

"I have a need to speak with our friend again."

The prawn sailor awoke to Norrington's grinning eyes and a gleaming dagger. He backed against the cell door but the dagger followed his progress. On the captain's face was half a grin, and determined eyes.

"Hello, old friend," Norrington said in a droll voice. "I am in need of your assistance once more."

"I-I'd die first," he replied in a gurgling voice. The dagger danced in front of his eyes, and he immediately changed his mind. "All right! What do you want!"

"I would like my sword back. As well as the weapons of all of my sailors. Take me there." He turned to Harry Buckler, and threw him the keys. "Should trouble arrive, the cells should keep you safe." He eyed Samuel. "I expect you to keep my crew safe, sailor."

"Aye aye, sir!"

"Now," Norrington spat as he roughly pulled the half-prawn, half-man to his feet, "we go on a little expedition."

The dagger was pressed firmly but not dangerously against the prawn as Norrington led the way according to the creature's directions. Norrington's arms were behind his back, held there by the pirate that was leading him. It was a difficult relationship, and Norrington knew better than to push his luck. This cowardly _thing_ would lead him to the weapons and then--

And then?

He would think of something.

The creature behind him snapped to attention as a higher-ranked sailor walked past, glaring a fishy glare into the eyes of the both of them.

"Where ye off to, eh?" He asked the prawn. He tremblingly replied, and I tried my best to play the struggling prisoner.

"Takin' the prisoner t' Cap'n Jones, that's where. We still need our headin' and the like." The creature, thankfully, had followed the commands Norrington had set in order before they'd set out on their little adventure. The second pirate gave them another stinking look before stalking away down the passage. Obviously, Norrington's companion was not well-liked, even among the crew.

_Then again, it is _pirates_ we are talking about._

_Oh, James, don't you see? It's no longer "them" and "they."_

_Us._

_We are pirates._

"Here," the prawn creature whispered and steered Norrington into a room. As soon as the door had been shut behind them, Norrington removed himself from the creature's grasp and pointed the dagger at him. Norrington blocked the door, the numbing words that had formed in his mind driving him.

"Retrieve my sword." Norrington punctuated every word, teeth clenched. His captive quickly dashed into the room, which appeared to be a type of armory. Swords, axes, guns-- so many weapons, many rusted and useless, lay on every shelf, cluttered into dusty, moldy corners, spilling onto the floor. Norrington almost pierced his foot straight through with a rusty arrowhead discarded on the ground. He skirted around it, keeping a wary eye and his dagger trained on the shuffling prawn. The room was deeper than it originally seemed, many racks containing newer swords and long rifles filling the center of the room. Still, the creature moved deeper. Norrington followed, allowing his eyes to scan the rows upon rows of swords fresh for the picking.

He quickly banished the thought from his mind. Focus on the task at hand.

Finally, at the very back of the room stood the familiar weapons, all leaning against the wall in military fashion. Norrington's own sword shone like a beacon, and he felt a wave of relief. The prawn handed the sword to Norrington. He shoved the dagger into his belt and pulled his sword from its sheath with the beautiful, almost mesmerizing sound of metal. He smiled at it, greeting an old friend he hadn't known he'd missed. Quickly, he shifted his attention back to the pirate before him, the now more powerful weapon dancing gracefully just before his nose, or what substituted for it.

"Bundle those swords and guns up for me," he demanded. The prawn hesitated, and Norrington feigned an attack. The creature flinched backwards and began bundling the said weapons in an old sailcloth. Norrington removed the hair from his eyes with a quick sweep of his hand, keeping his weapon trained on his newfound lackey. The desire becoming too great, Norrington reached for a small derringer on the nearby rack and stuffed it into his belt along with the dagger, looping an unidentifiable animal skin pouch full of fresh powder over his shoulder. _Pirate,_ he murmured to himself.

The prawn had finished his handiwork. He knelt on the floor beside the bundle, as if asking Norrington for his approval. In response, the captain cracked the butt of a rifle at his side against the hard skull of the creature. It was out before it had a chance to register what had happened. Norrington quickly, picked up the bundle, held it against his shoulder and made for the door. He could never have made the journey back with the prawn. It would have been just as suspicious as Norrington himself dashing for the brig, a bundle of weapons in hand. The sword and sheath were quickly reattached to his belt, and he instead reached for the derringer. One shot was not much of a reassurance, and he was reminded suddenly of his first encounter with Sparrow. He shook his head and opened the door.

Standing directly before him stood the hulking half-shark, half-man eyes burning and set to kill.

* * *

AN: This chapter took a little longer to put up seeing as FF.n decided to go all wonky on me. But I'm glad it's finally up! I'm actually pretty pleased with this chapter-- more action and some major decisions with Norry's character. Hope I haven't gone too far... Happy reading, friends, and I thank every single one of my reviewers with a kiss! -hands everyone a Hershey's Kiss- 


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Norrington's breath simply evaporated. His mind turned completely black as he stared into the fiery eyes of the abomination before him. He was given no warning before the creature's sword flashed from its sheath.

The swords and guns clattered around Norrington's feet as his first primal instinct grabbed his otherwise useless limbs. The assailant's sword stopped a mere inch before Norrington's nose, his own sword blocking with all his strength. He suddenly found his breath, and his fingers' grip on the hilt became that much fiercer. With a growl, he threw his attacker off of him, where he slammed against the opposite wall. A lantern clattered to the ground beside him. Norrington's adrenaline was still surging through him, and he drove forward at the prostrate figure.

Another block. Angry eyes locked on one another, wills sparking in the dense air between them. The shark creature's claws latched around the handle of the fallen lantern and he swung at Norrington's head. He dodged backwards, feeling the hot wave of air off the lantern graze just past his face. The pirate lunged forward, Norrington barely able to parry the attack from the sword and duck in the same instant that the lantern sailed toward his head.

Back and forth, the sounds of their battle fell on the mute ears of the moldy planks. Norrington drove forward, then the creature drove back, the swords pushing owners backwards or allowing a thrust into careful defenses. Swing and dodge, block and roll. Norrington wove circles around the lantern and sword, feeling their movements like color and music around him. The fire, then the cold steel, weaving along with the two combatants. The space closed in about them, all in darkness save for the light-turned-weapon in the shark-man's hand.

Norrington buckled suddenly as the lantern swept down and crashed against his skull. The sword clattered across the floor and collided with the wall. Norrington's eyes were flooded with darkness, and he tried wearily to pull himself up. _No use._ The wide foot of the creature landed hard in the small of Norrington's back, and he gave a short cry. The shark laughed gutturally, ready to drive the sword through the back of Norrington's neck.

_The dagger_!

Norrington fumbled for Samuel's dagger shoved into his belt, and, wrapping his fingers around the hilt, plunged the blade deep into his attacker's foot. Norrington's face was suddenly covered in viscous blood, but he gave it no notice as he rolled to his weapon and attacked the shark creature mercilessly. The tip of his sword entered through the creature's back and traveled straight through. The captain pulled back, a sickening sound escaping the blood-filled throat of the would-be murderer. He fell to his knees, then keeled over with a low, dull thud.

Norrington's breath was shallow, staring at the ruin before him. A hand to his cheek reminded him of the foreign blood that was quickly congealing there. No time. He quickly re-bundled the weapons, shoving his bloodied sword into his sheath, retrieving Samuel's dagger and cocking his derringer. His feet led him where his fevered mind could not, running as silently and swiftly as he could manage without bringing any more attention to his presence. Surely some beast would have heard the skirmish outside the armory and would come running.

"Captain!" Harry Buckler cried, seeing the blood on Norrington's face as he arrived in the brig, his breath haggard and tired. Norrington let the weapons drop to the ground, not finding words possible. He waved off Buckler and motioned for Samuel to come nearer. The men all moved about in search of their weapons as Samuel approached his captain. He could see the man holding out the dagger he had leant him, and he could see the blood there.

"Young Samuel," he said when he had found his voice, "this fine weapon saved my life. I thank you for its use." Samuel took the dagger in his hand, turning it over to inspect the life fluid stained on his small weapon. "Keep it near you. I fear it will be needed again very soon." He stood from his kneeling position to address his crew. "The crew of the _Dutchman_ is about and if we're to get free of her it'll be a battle for our lives." He tossed a fine-looking sword to Harry Buckler. "They know we've escaped, and there may be no hope for us to survive without a fight. I don't know how we can find our way out of this, but I will fight every hell-spawned creature Davy Jones sets before me if it allows your freedom."

"We're with you, Captain Norrington!" Harry Buckler said immediately.

"Aye!" Samuel echoed, followed by a loud chorus from the crew.

Norrington grinned, his newfound derringer in one hand and blood-soaked sword in the other. Pride, anticipation and a lust for battle swelled somewhere deep inside him-- a feeling almost completely unfamiliar but zealously welcomed.

"All right, then," he said with an exhale, then moved for the door to the brig. Buckler and Fredricks were by his side, each with a rapier. Samuel, true to his word, remained near the captain with his dagger and a pistol found amongst the bundle. They surged forward as one, eyes scouring any crevice for a crewman of the _Dutchman_. Their uneasiness did not ebb with the empty corridor, and only increased when the bloodied body of Norrington's attacker appeared on the floor before them. Norrington urged them forward, taking the lead. Overhead they could hear the hurried footsteps and voices of sailors in a frenzy. They knew, and they would come.

Water fell in torrents through the cracks above them. It was raining.

They came at last to the stairs leading above decks, and there the crew was waiting for them. Norrington's sword cracked against the side of a cursed sailor's head, knocking him to the side. Fredricks finished him with a sword to the abdomen. Another came barreling down the steps toward them, Norrington meeting his charging body with his shoulder. The creature rolled over Norrington's back and was met with a forest of loyal swords. Swords clanged against one another, light flashing off the metal and reflecting in the pooling blood. Norrington ran a pirate through, using his body as a shield. Buckler joined him and, together, they shoved the body into the oncoming wave of pirates, who tumbled as they tripped over their fallen comrade. Together, the crew of the _Gorgon_ leapt over the moaning sailors at their feet.

He slashed at the belly of an oncoming pirate and shoved him out of the way in the same motion. Rain and blood splashed on his face as he emerged on deck, Buckler, Fredricks and Samuel still with him. The crew rallied behind him, the rear still battling with the remaining enemies upon the stairs. Norrington braced himself.

Waiting for them stood even more cursed pirates, each holding a more exotic, more painful-looking weapon than any sword he had seen in the armory. And directly in the center of this group stood the stoic form of Davy Jones. His pipe was gone, his mismatched arms crossed and brow furrowed to new and dangerous levels. His tentacles shook with silent fury, the rain coming off him in steam. Norrington's breath fogged before him, but his dual grip did not fail.

"Mr. Norrington," Davy Jones shouted above the rain pelting the deck. "Seems as though ye've managed an escape." The creatures around him laughed, sharing a macabre inside joke, no doubt. Jones looked about him, brow raised in mock-surprise. "Well, _Captain_? I'm waitin' to see just what exactly ye plan on doing from here." Norrington felt his lip curl back in defiance.

"Beckett will not negotiate with you," he called over the sound of the rain. "I am worth _nothing_ to him. You have no bargaining power with or without me."

"I'd figured as much, laddie," Jones said in a belittling tone. Norrington took the lull to crack his shoulder. "However, a bargain's a bargain, and you were sent to _me_. You _belong_ to me now, Mr. Norrington, and I don't believe I'll be lettin' ye leave so easily."

"Then let my crew go free. You have no use for them."

"Ye know, I rather think yer right," Jones said devilishly. As if on cue, his rabble surged forward past him, brandishing weapons. Norrington hardly had time to defend himself before they were surrounded. Norrington blocked a blow from a familiar foe-- one brandishing a sawfish blade-- afraid to fire his one-shot derringer. The sounds of death surrounded him, and he dared not think of whose deaths they were. He protectively stepped back to shield Samuel and gritted his teeth against the power behind the sawfish blade.

A distant sound barely pierced the veil of rain. But he knew it. He knew it well. Well enough to duck and take Samuel with him just as a cannonball flew overhead and embedded itself with a terrible crash in the mainmast.

The chaos on deck soon intensified tenfold as cannon fire erupted from the fog around them, punching neat holes in the _Dutchman_'s side and prow. One collided with the mast a second time, bringing its timbers crashing down around them. Another crashed into the mechanism topped with a carved squid, shattering it to the deck. Jones fell to the deck himself, barely missing another ball fired in his direction. Norrington's features flared into a smile as if the sun had broken from the clouds.

"Gillette," he muttered.

The _Gorgon_ burst from the cloud of fog, firing its broadside against the _Dutchman _relentlessly. Norrington leapt to his feet, slicing his sword through the body of the closest enemy and pulling Samuel up by one arm.

"Samuel," he called to the boy, shaking the fear of battle from his eyes. "Quickly, rally the crew to the starboard side! Prepare to board the _Gorgon_!" Samuel stared transfixed for a moment at the beautiful sight of the sleek _Gorgon_ attacking the massive _Flying Dutchman_ with everything that she had. Samuel nodded fervently and shot into the fray to gather the lost crewmen. Norrington cut his way through the two nearest pirates, closing his eyes against the flow of blood. Jones watched from his position at the helm, chuckling to himself. A red cloud appeared before Norrington's eyes, and he tried furiously to blink away his rage. He turned his head to find the _Gorgon_ within boarding range. A sailor he had never seen threw a rope in Norrington's direction. He caught it deftly, then handed it to Harry Buckler beside him.

"Go!" Norrington urged. "Get the others across." He guarded against a quick blow from the right, parrying the weapon out of the creature's hands. Buckler did not argue with the intense green eyes. Lines from both the _Gorgon_ and the _Dutchman_ were ripe with sailors passing from one ship to the other while Norrington and Fredricks held back the onslaught. Samuel was the last to swing across. The _Gorgon_ was almost out of range. The rope landed in Fredricks' hand, but he quickly handed it off to Norrington.

"They need you, Captain," he demanded. "I'll keep this lot at bay." He gave a final salute before charging back into the fray. Norrington cursed softly, but did not deny the man his final request. The captain swung across the gap, helped onto the ship by helpful hands.

"Pull out those sails!" was his first and only order. It was followed immediately.

His thin, tired, fire-filled eyes turned back to the _Dutchman_, where he could hear Fredricks fighting for his life and for theirs. He could clearly see Davy Jones, still at the helm, pull off his hat and wave a sarcastic gentlemanly goodbye to the captain.

_I will see you die. Mark me, for this I swear on my life._

As if in response to his silent promise, Davy Jones scowled and turned away to his helmsman.

"My God."

Norrington turned at the familiar voice. There stood Gillette, sweeping an eye over his captain. "Do forgive me for saying so, sir, but you look like you've survived Hell." Norrington reflected that it was very much close to the truth.

Silence took them, the betrayer and the betrayed staring at one another in a variety of emotions too varied and altering to pinpoint. Finally, Norrington placed a hand on Gillette's shoulder. The gesture spoke more than any words could have at that point. Gillette offered a smile, but did not find it reflected by his captain. He stepped back and took on the air of his naval days.

"Sir, if we do not quickly leave the area, Jones may call out the Kraken on our ship--"

"I have a feeling he will do no such thing, Gillette," Norrington muttered as he sat himself down on the hard ground, sighing in relief. "Firstly, this is a ship of Beckett's fleet. Should Jones destroy something so valuable belonging to the man that holds his heart, Beckett would feel free to destroy Jones' heart without remorse." Norrington ran a hand wearily across his face, finding rather more blood there than he had thought. "Secondly, I believe you destroyed the mechanism necessary to summon said beast from the depths with one well-aimed cannonball." At last, his half-grin appeared. "My thanks are in order."

"Sir--"

"Don't." Norrington said simply, like the drop of a hammer. Grunting, Norrington stood once more. "I believe a restructuring is in order. Mr. Gillette, you are now my first lieutenant. Please seek out a Mr. Harry Buckler and inform him of his ascension to second lieutenant. We are no longer a servant of the East India Trading Company. Have our colors run down an all sails filled."

"Sir, our colors...? If we are not a ship of the fleet, what exactly are we?" Gillette asked. Norrington paused before turning slowly to Gillette.

"Before you follow those orders, I suppose I should ask you." He faced his subordinate, a different man than he had been when he left. "Can you serve under the command of a pirate?"

Gillette stared incredulously at the man before him: drenched and blood-soaked, Commodore's sword hanging by his side, stolen derringer in his belt loop; a man with the deadly glare and authority of a servant of His Majesty's Royal Navy, but with the lopsided grin and dangerous edges of a rogue pirate. It was Commodore Norrington and Captain James Norrington, but also simply James, the pirate within him that had begged for so long to be released.

"If you will have me, sir," Gillette answered. Norrington nodded as would a forgiving father to his apologetic son.

"Then give my orders to the crew, Gillette."

The subordinate nodded and began across the deck to issue the orders given to him. He allowed himself one last look over his shoulder.

There stood James Norrington, green eyes closed against the rain, head turned toward the heavens and arms slightly raised at his side as if accepting the rain as a brother. The blood washed away from his face, his hair lank and damp against his head and white shirt plastered to his skin. He breathed deep the fresh air, let it fill him, and accepted all of it. It was perhaps one of the most breathtaking sights Gillette had ever witnessed.

As the _Gorgon_ sailed through the stormy seas, the crew watched as Captain Norrington passed slowly to his cabin. A hero of ancient Rome was passing through their ranks-- a gladiator, perhaps, his dignity worn on his sleeve. To them, he was more. He was their captain, and they would follow him. He reached his cabin, everything arranged just as he had left it. The boots left his feet without his asking them to, and he fell without a word onto his bed. His eyes closed, and, at last, sleep cradled him to her bosom and took him.

* * *

AN: Ah, good ol' Deus Ex Machina. I feel a little corny bringing in Gillette just as things were getting rough, but really, I couldn't think of a safe way for everyone to get away. This worked out best, I think. If no one likes it, just let me know. I had sooo much fun turning Norry into a pirate, however. I hope I'm not the only one hoping that he'll turn out something like this in the 3rd movie. -siiigh- Anyway, thanks for reading, all!  



	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

His dreams were strange that night. Given, not as strange as, lying in a drunken coma on the floor of a Tortuga tavern, he had dreamt of a burning badger piloting the _Dauntless_ while wearing Jack Sparrow's hat and singing a warbled shanty.

No, this dream was not as strange or meaningless as that nonsensical dream. There was something _real_ about it. Two dreams, seemingly unconnected but linked.

The first was of a woman. She was a dark woman, her hair in dirty dreadlocks and teeth a shade of decay. She smiled warmly at him, and beckoned him nearer her table. She did not speak, but held out a map to him with an air of confidentiality. He took it, and studied its features. The map was real enough, but when he glanced back to the woman, she had disappeared and Norrington was left alone in a swirling darkness. He kept the map held close to him.

Suddenly, the dream changed, and he was in the sea. A ship was sailing not far away, and one of her sailors was hailing to him. He swam over, still feeling the bulge of the map in his jacket pocket. A warm hand pulled him up on deck, the man before him sporting a long brown beard and a wide-brimmed hat topped with a feather. He grinned dangerously, then stepped aside to reveal an undead Turner and Sparrow holding a screaming Elizabeth in their bony hands. Norrington took a frightened step backwards, stepping out over the water.

He fell. Fell for hundreds of feet, never touching the water. Time slowed. He could still hear Elizabeth's screams as he plummeted, arms circling around him in desperate attempts to reach for anything to stop his fall. Nothing. He fell backwards into the unknown.

He awoke with a jolt, sitting straight up in his bed. His breath was caught in his throat, and it took him a moment to remember how to breathe. He felt the ship rolling calmly over the sea, the softness of the blankets beneath and on top of him. Strange, he hadn't remembered pulling them over him. He sat fully up, inspecting the room around him-- the mirror was still hulking useless in the corner. His blood had yet to be washed from the planks where he had sat, just as useless, only five days ago.

The noises of the morning were filling his ears slowly, like sand draining from an hourglass. First came the low toll of the bell-- eight bells. He'd slept until eight bells. He had not slept that long since his days as a midshipman. Then came the voices of the men nearest the door, scrubbing the deck. They were speaking of yesterday's escape from the _Dutchman_. One of the men was obviously from the crew Gillette had assembled to rescue them, for he continued to ask questions concerning the nature of the creatures aboard, and the visage of the frightening Davy Jones.

Then came an authoritative voice-- Harry Buckler asserting his newfound position to order another sailor to climb the ratlines to loose a sail that had caught on a spar. The hearty laugh of a man was followed in chorus by his crew mates. A snatch of a song was caught in his ear. The young Samuel, wherever he was, sung out boldly, not caring who listened. Gillette joined Buckler in his order. Seemingly the man had lodged a foot into the wrong line and tangled it. Norrington smiled to himself, then stood, moving to the door. Before he exited, he took an old, brown longcoat from the wardrobe and slipped it over his shoulders.

The men scrubbing the deck near the door ceased their conversation as Norrington stepped out. The sun was beating down, a relief from yesterday's pelting storm. The faces of three men with soap and scrub brushes in hand beamed up at him. He nodded, then moved forward onto the deck. She still looked like a man-of-war; the descent into piracy had not yet affected their mode of transport. Norrington moved out onto the deck, the sun immediately warming him. Gillette and Buckler were still caught in the affair of the tangled sail. Suddenly, a man was at his side, and he turned to face him.

"Captain Norrington," he said in a small voice, "we've been sailing in a westerly direction for some time now, and the helmsman was wondering if you have a heading."

Norrington thought for a moment, and the image of the map from his dream flashed in his mind. A red mark, drawn with what he did not know, on an island circled many times. His mind stuck on that image, then furrowed a brow at the younger man beside him.

"Do you have a parchment on you?"

* * *

Gillette joined Norrington as he stood near the bowsprit, a pensive and introspective look on the captain's face. The sea parted before them, spray rising and falling like rain. They had not been sailing for half the day before Norrington had given the helmsman a strange piece of parchment and told him to find whatever he had drawn there. He was doing an admirable job despite the lack of distinguishing features or names. In fact, the man had said he knew almost precisely where the captain wanted him to go, although he himself did not know the name of the island.

Norrington did not face Gillette as he approached. The first lieutenant decided to initiate the conversation.

"Where did you get the idea to draw an island that nobody knows on a parchment?" He asked as innocently as he could. Norrington shrugged, only giving a passing thought to it.

"I saw it in a dream."

Gillette had learned to accept much in the past few days, but even this made his mouth turn down.

"A dream?"

"Yes, Gillette, it's what happens when a man such as myself falls into the sleep of a man robbed of it aboard a pirate ship."

"How can you trust a dream, Captain?"

Norrington paused, his gaze still on the sea. "I don't know," he answered. "But something told me that it was real enough to place my trust in it."

The man that Gillette had known was finally washed away. The Norrington he had known would never take such a chance. Something of the man before still lingered in the eyes of this man, but they were so very different. Gillette was unsure as to whether he was glad or not.

"What do you expect to find when we arrive at this mysterious destination, sir?"

"What do I _expect_, or what do I _wish_ to find there, Gillette?" He paused, and when Gillette made no motion to answer he continued. "I expect to find nothing, or next to nothing, if not a port where we can refresh our supplies and take on a few hands that were lost in the battle on the _Flying Dutchman_. What I_ hope_ to find is much more precious." His hand on the railing tightened its grip until his knuckles turned white.

"Sir?" Gillette's voice snapped Norrington from his reverie.

"Aboard the _Dutchman_ I had the pleasure of meeting William Turner's father." Gillette watched for the relevance of this information. Norrington indulged him. "I confessed to him that I had stolen the heart of Davy Jones, and he provided me with valuable information. Jack Sparrow is dead-- Beckett did not lie in that sense. The _Black Pearl_ is gone with him. But Turner, the younger, is still alive. If we are to get that heart from Beckett, finding Turner is our surest route."

"And you hope that your dream leads you to Turner?"

"Turner, and perhaps something more."

A faint smile turned up on the edge of his lips.

The _Gorgon_ plowed on through the clear water, the two men standing silent on her deck, quietly understanding without words.

They sailed on through the day, Norrington moving nervously from his cabin to the bow to the helm. The helmsman updated him on their route, telling him with each subsequent visit how much longer until their approximate destination. Gillette had never seen the man so on edge, never staying in one spot for too long, fingers twitching and clenching. His footsteps paced the deck back and forth, and when he had worn his path into the deck, he traversed below decks in attempts to calm himself.

That was where he found the rum.

The men that Gillette had hired on Isla Asilo to man the ship while Norrington and the rest of the crew had been aboard the _Dutchman _had brought it on board. There were two great casks of it, along with two dozen bottles scattered about the bottom of a crate. He stood over them, a deckhand or two giving him odd looks as they passed. One man finally reached past the captain to take a bottle and apply it to his mouth. Without thinking another moment on the subject, Norrington followed his motions. He pulled the stopper from the bottle and, with only a second's hesitation, put it to his lips and took his first swallow of the bitter liquid in almost a month.

It tasted like death and love in the same instant. He took another drink to wash it down.

Night descended on the _Gorgon_ before too much longer, and Norrington was there to meet it. The rum had relaxed him, and he leaned almost childlike on the railing as he stared out into the black nothingness. They had not seen another ship cross the horizon, which seemed strange but nonetheless comforting. WIth a tired sigh, his arms stretched out and hanging over the sea with the rum bottle dangling precariously, he leaned his head into his arms and let the darkness take him.

"Sir!" Someone was calling from the edges of his consciousness. "Captain Norrington!" He jumped from his languid position, the rum dropping into the sea. He gave it no notice, seeing why the man he recognized now as Buckler had called out to him. A ship's lanterns were lit just inside cannon range. She was flying no colors, that he could see. He stumbled backwards slightly, and his hand darted into his longcoat's pocket, pulling out his spyglass.

The image blurred at first, and he wondered just how far the ship was, then he blinked and realized that the drink was affecting his vision. _Damn it all_... He refocused himself and stared through the lens of his spyglass once again. The shock almost sent him reeling backwards.

The man from his dream-- long brown beard, fierce face and a hat topped with a feather. Exactly the same. He stood near the helm, pointing in the direction of the _Gorgon_. Norrington was in for another blow as he saw the man at the helm was one of the dirty pirates from the _Black Pearl._ He snatched the looking glass from his eye and turned quickly to Buckler, who was still behind him.

"Ready the longboat. Send up the flag of truce. I need to talk to the sailors on that ship." He strode away, stowing the spyglass in his inner pocket again. Buckler's voice followed him, shouting, "Ready the longboat!" and having it echo across the deck. Buckler himself raised the white flag to the top of the mast, where it shown proudly despite the lack of light. Norrington motioned for Gillette and Samuel to follow him.

The three were soon in the longboat, Gillette and Samuel rowing toward the mysterious ship looming ahead in the darkness. Norrington kept his eyes fiercely locked on it as the sails were furled and anchor dropped at the sight of the flag. His heart was in his throat as the line was thrown down to tie up his longboat, which Samuel made short work of. The others climbed first up the side of the ship, and Norrington followed. His eyes trailed up as a set of feet met him and a hand was extended to help him up.

Two sets of eyes locked, brown on green.

"Turner?" Norrington asked in shock.

The eyes of William Turner stared in disbelief, then metamorphasized into purest anger.

Norrington felt Will's boot catch him mid-chest as he still hung over the side of the ship. His fingers lost their grip and the force of Will's attack sent him flying backwards into darkness.

He was falling, arms flying out to his side in any attempts to slow or stop his descent. This time, the water engulfed him in a sound-swallowing splash. He resurfaced, gasping for air.

"Why shouldn't I kill you?" Will shouted from his safe position aboard the ship. His eyes were filled with fury. Norrington treaded water, trying to find his mind amid the water and rum.

"Because," Norrington said as clearly as he could manage, "I have a message from your father."

Will faltered, hands clenched at his side, before a hand could rest on his shoulder, relaxing his anger. A set of too-familiar eyes stared down at the man floating helplessly in the water. He'd hoped to God he had forgotten her eyes. She stared in wonder, mouth slightly agape.

"James Norrington?" Elizabeth's voice was as melodic as it had ever been. Norrington grinned helplessly, and gave a slight bow-- the best he could give without receiving a face-full of water.

"My lady."

* * *

AN: Took me long enough. Anyway, this is prolly the shortest chapter, but there wasn't much to tell, I suppose. Now I get to write Will, Liz and Barbossa! GLEE. Here's hoping I get all of them right! Thanks much to all my wonderful reviewers-- I am nothing without you! Much love and happy reading!  



	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

"Will, what on earth were you thinking?" Elizabeth said as she helped pull a sopping-wet Norrington on deck. He tried his hardest not to shiver, but the brisk breeze tugged at his dripping clothing and he shuddered against his will. Gillette and Samuel stood behind him, the former giving Will a rock-hard glare and the latter looking about him in curiosity. As Elizabeth wrapped a boat cloak about Norrington's shoulders, Will took in an angry breath and stared with deep-set betrayal at the former Commodore.

"Think about it, Elizabeth," he muttered, arms crossed. "Jack didn't have the heart of Davy Jones, and I hadn't taken it either. Where could it have possibly gone?" The sarcasm dripped from his voice dangerously. Elizabeth's hands were still on Norrington's shoulders, and despite the chill, he felt his face flush as her grip intensified.

"Surely you don't mean to say that James would purposely betray us?" Elizabeth asked, and Norrington felt his face grow pale.

Will's eyes flashed, but his face turned down into melancholy. "James?"

"That _is_ his name, isn't it?" She stood taller.

The subject was forgotten as Will turned his focus back to Norrington. "Well, _James_, please tell us what happened to the heart, if you didn't take it."

The deck was dark, even though the lanterns burned brightly near them. Elizabeth backed away from Norrington slightly, searching his face. He smirked sadly, and pulled the boat cloak tighter around him. He was surprised when Gillette moved forward to explain.

"The heart is in Beckett's hands," Gillette said quickly, stepping protectively in front of Norrington. "Captain Norrington came to find a way to take it back from him."

"Gillette."

The voice was low, almost as low as to say it didn't exist. But no man present would dare refute it, the authority in that whisper silencing even William Turner. Norrington sighed, catching Elizabeth's questioning eyes.

"I took the heart, and I gave it to Beckett."

Will glared daggers at the man, and Elizabeth stared disbelievingly.

"I was sent by Beckett to bargain with Davy Jones, and instead I was captured, along with my crew. It was there that I met your father, William." He, too, used Will's name almost mockingly. Will blinked confusedly, trying to discern Norrington's point. "He thought that you were dead."

Will looked away suddenly, and Elizabeth was at his side. Norrington pulled the boat cloak closer, still shuddering. His lips were slowly turning blue.

"I rarely break a promise, Mr. Turner. I swore to this man that I would find you, should you still be alive." Norrington enjoyed the strange look forming on Will's features. Elizabeth's eyes softened, flicking from Norrington to Will.

"Why would you promise something like that?" Will asked.

"A number of reasons, I assure you." He paused, finding it suddenly hard to meet either Turner's or Elizabeth's eyes. "Firstly, a deep sense of regret." He looked to his boots, afraid to see their reactions. "I know of my faults, and they are not few. I know now that, to put those few who called me 'friend' in danger, was folly, even though I could not see it." He glanced up first at Elizabeth. Her emotions were hidden behind a thick veil. "Secondly, my sense of honor. Knowing that Beckett has the heart and that his actions could throw the entire fleet into jeopardy brings me to the conclusion that I must amend my rash actions. But, I cannot do so alone."

He looked then to Will, whose burning eyes had lessened in intensity, though the ire had not yet flown completely.

"Piercing the heart of Davy Jones is a task that you alone should be privileged to carry out, William." There was no mocking in his tone anymore.

The blacksmith was taken aback at the words, unsure of how he should think any longer. Will looked at the planks beneath his feet, gritting his teeth, fighting emotions bubbling and boiling. Finally, his conflicted eyes found Norrington's again.

"I'm sorry," he said through his teeth, "but we can't help you."

Will stalked angrily toward the helm. Elizabeth looked from Norrington, then ran after Will.

They were both stopped by the man with a beard and feather-topped hat. Norrington stared apprehensively, stepping protectively in front of Samuel.

"What's all this, then, Mr. Turner?" The man asked in a low, gruff voice stained by the salt of the sea. A small monkey sat on the man's shoulder, a green apple in its paws. "We'd best be movin' on, unless yer guest here has somethin' more important t' offer?" The intense eyes of the man focused on Norrington, who calmly stood his ground. "An' you might be?"

"Captain Norrington," he replied dryly, trying to forget the cold seeping in through the boat cloak. "I am here to discuss the retrieval of the heart of Davy Jones."

The man sized Norrington up with his eyes, squinting in thought. The monkey chirped, biting into the apple with a crunch. Norrington gave a shuddering, freezing breath in the cooling air, his breath condensing before him.

"I've nothin' t' do with any heart, Davy Jones' or not. Order the anchor up an' heave to, Mr. Turner," he growled. He began to stalk away, and Norrington felt his opportunities slipping away from him. He threw the boat cloak to Gillette and began to move after the man.

"If you'll not help me," he said in a demanding voice, "then lead me to a man that can." He stepped in front of the man, blocking his way back to the helm. They stared eye to eye for a long, tense moment. "Lead me to Jack Sparrow."

Behind them, Elizabeth gasped, hands at her mouth. Norrington tried his best not to be distracted from his cause. The man before him cracked a smirk, then gave a low laugh that echoed in his chest.

"Well, Mr. Norrington, looks like we have a common interest, then, as it were." He grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "As it so happens, we were makin' our way t' dear ol' Jack as ye happened upon us."

Norrington paused before adding: "I'd heard Sparrow was dead."

"Aye, there's the rub, ain't it?" The man gave a growling laugh. "Looks like we'll be startin' our own fleet, then, Mr. Norrington."

Norrington looked at the man, one eyebrow raised in incredulity. "Am I to join you, just so?"

"Yer wantin' t' find Jack Sparrow, aren't ye?"

He waited a moment before nodding. "Yes."

"Then we have an accord." He held out a calloused hand. "Captain Barbossa." Norrington tentatively took his hand in his own, and it was shaken vigorously. "Welcome t' the _Agrias_, Captain Norrington." With that, Barbossa walked back up toward the helm. Gillette and Elizabeth were suddenly at his side, Gillette insisting he wear the boat cloak and Elizabeth helping guide the man toward the captain's cabin.

"James, is it true?" She asked as they settled him into a fine chair near the fireplace, which had a small fire going in it. "Are you really looking for Jack Sparrow?" She curled up on the floor beside the chair. Will stood in the open doorway, arms crossed and unsure as to whether he should enter or not.

"He, supposedly, is the only man that can help me retrieve the heart." The warm fire was helping his shivering limbs considerably. Samuel appeared behind Will, looking at the man's sword. Will looked down, and his expression softened.

"Who is this fellow?" He asked. Samuel puffed out his chest.

"I'm Samuel McCormick, and I'm part of Captain Norrington's pirate crew!"

Both Elizabeth and Will shot a guarded look at Norrington, who sat up in his seat. Gillette shifted uneasily from his position behind the chair.

"Pirate?" Elizabeth breathed almost soundlessly.

"You heard correctly," Norrington said, rubbing circulation into his arms. "James Norrington is no better than a ruddy pirate. It is," he added with a slight grin in Elizabeth's direction, "somewhat of a welcome release." He sat for a moment longer before turning to Gillette. "You are to take command of the _Gorgon_ while I am aboard the _Agrias_. I trust you implicitly. Follow her closely, until I arrive tomorrow. Have some crewmen here run you over. Samuel shall stay with me." Samuel grinned importantly, while Gillette shuffled his feet slightly.

"Are you sure you wish to stay aboard, sir?" He asked.

"I would rather not risk it in my current state. I shall be fine come the morning." He offered a confident smile. It was almost brotherly, and Gillette mirrored it tentatively.

"Yes, sir."

"We have been friends long enough to permit the usage of my _name_, Nathan," he said, using Gillette's for the first time while on duty. Gillette's smile widened, as if in on a joke.

"James." He lowered his head slightly in salute and was off out the doors past Will and Samuel. The boy stepped into the cabin, taking Gillette's former position. He was beaming at the fortuitous promotion. Will stepped in also, deciding to forget his animosity for the time being. The four of them lingered before the crackling fire and enjoyed its warmth.

Will was the first to speak.

"How is my father?" His tone was trying to be conversational, but failed miserably.

"He is well, despite being locked in a foul-smelling brig and surviving on tasteless rations," Norrington answered truthfully. Will winced. "He worries about your well-being, and upon news of you, he brightened immediately."

"I should have done something else," Will muttered. "If I had been able--"

"There was nothing you could have done," Norrington said bitingly. "He is bound to the _Dutchman_ and is quite incapable of leaving it. You do what you can for him by surviving." He let the boat cloak fall off of his shoulders.

"He's right, Will," Elizabeth said quietly from where she sat on the floor. "Knowing your alive is keeping him alive." She offered a smile to the room, and only Samuel chose to reflect it. She looked sadly at her knees, then turned again to Norrington. "Are you feeling any warmer?"

"Yes, thank you," he said honestly. "But I do not suspect that your Captain Barbossa is one to allow pirate vagabonds to lounge about his personal space all night?" She smiled weakly, then stood, meeting Will's eyes.

"There are a few hammocks left empty because of the last storm," Will said quietly. "You and Samuel could take those, if you would like." Norrington nodded, standing to match them.

"Anything of convenience." He and Samuel followed the two out into the open air of the deck, boat cloak following. Will took Norrington by the shoulder, allowing the other two on deck before them. Will's eyes were still conflicted, and Norrington did not press him.

"I still don't trust you," he told the captain candidly. "But if you're willing to help look for Jack, then we have to work together."

"Agreed, Mr. Turner." Norrington gave him a heavy look. "I will forgive your trespasses against me if you will forgive mine against you." Will sadly thought back to Isla Cruces, the twisting of Jack's words, and the daring sword fight atop the spinning wheel, all because of honor. He felt a guilty weight on his chest, then nodded.

He held out his hand to Norrington, who took it firmly and shook.

* * *

The hammock calmly rocked beneath him, the waves gently cradling the _Agrias_. An overwhelming feeling of home filled every sense as he stared at the wet planks above him, heard the sleeping sailors surrounding him, felt the curve of the hammock beneath him. All he needed was a rum bottle in his hand and the memory would be complete. He had spent so many nights on the _Black Pearl_ in much the same fashion. It brought a nostalgic smile to his lips.

Samuel was snoring in the hammock beside him, fast asleep. Norrington smiled in his direction, then sat up to face the hold. It was larger than that of the _Black Pearl_ and the _Gorgon_, holding familiar and unfamiliar persons alike. He was out of his hammock before he had time to think about where he was going. His feet carried him wordlessly up the steps onto the deck above.

The smell and sound of the sea washed over him. Dawn's pink head was barely rising over the horizon, shedding the slightest light on Norrington's face as he emerged. It was still too dark to see who was working on deck so early, but he could hear a man among the sails, another at the helm, two scrubbing the deck and another softly singing far off near the stern. He identified one outline immediately as it leaned over the railing, facing the darkness instead of the dawn. He approached slowly from behind, inspecting the figure carefully.

"You've been into the rum," he said conversationally as he sidled up beside the figure. Elizabeth's red-rimmed eyes turned sadly to his, and he regretted his choice of words. "I'm sorry--"

"No, you're right," Elizabeth said with a slight quiver in her words. She held up the half-empty bottle sadly. He took the bottle from her reach and drained a drink from it bitterly.

"Why would such a fine woman need comfort from a bottle?" He indicated said bottle with a movement that caused to liquid to slosh about inside. She bit her lip in response, looking out at the retreating stars.

"I've done a terrible thing, James," she told him, though her eyes would not meet his. He took another drink, feeling perhaps the conversation warranted that he be a little less than sober. Elizabeth took it back and drank another long swig.

"Could it possibly be any worse than my betrayal?" He asked. Elizabeth held a hand to her eyes, and he saw a single tear escape its prison. Norrington didn't like where the conversation had gone, and he held a hand against her shoulder.

"It's worse, I know it is." Her words were slightly blurred by the rum. She looked up, her tears still fresh, but her expression changed. "Granted, you really shouldn't have done what you did, James." He smiled weakly, taking the bottle back and draining more into his throat.

"I know." He placed the rum on the railing, where it stayed. "But I also learn from my mistakes. I see what I have done wrong and apply that knowledge to my next course of action." He placed his other hand on Elizabeth's remaining shoulder, facing her squarely. "You do not have to tell me what you are grieving about, but listen to my advice. I've made my share of ill choices."

She looked away, but did not retreat. "Learn from my mistakes," she echoed hollowly. Her lip trembled, and she fell forward onto Norrington's chest, heaving with quiet sobs. Norrington nearly dropped her in shock, but held her tightly, comfortingly, nervously. He knew it was the rum doing this to her, but latent emotions surfaced without his bidding. A comforting hand through her hair was all he could dare.

_I shouldn't be allowing this._

But he _wanted_ it.

He closed his eyes and held her tighter, his voice softly murmuring things such as, "Don't blame yourself," and "Everything will be fine." The sobbing quieted, and he was almost glad when she pulled back, wiping her tears.

"I'm sorry," she said as she reached for the rum. "You've always been so kind to me." A long drink followed, some missing her mouth entirely. Norrington absently wondered if he'd looked something like that when he'd been drinking. She finished, and leaned staggeringly against the railing again. "Do you know how Jack died?"

"I do not," Norrington answered, retrieving the bottle, hoping to keep it from her as well as take a prolonged drink.

"The Kraken attacked the _Black Pearl_," she said with a sadistic smile that turned into a quivering frown. "Jack went down with the ship." The sentence was forced, painful, and brought on more tears. Norrington searched her face as the light began to spill over the deck.

"Did he?" He asked. Elizabeth turned to face him, eyes wide and frightened-- exposed.

The bell rang nearby. Six bells. Elizabeth turned away, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," she said again before moving off across the deck. He watched her go, holding the bottle of half-finished rum in one hand. He transferred it to his mouth as quickly as possible, trying to forget the feel of Elizabeth's body etched against his own.

* * *

AN: About Gillette's name: I wasn't sure about his first name, but I had seen several people use "Nathaniel" or "Nathan" so I assumed that this was his first name. If it's never mentioned or I'm wrong, please tell me! I hate to be wrong, and I'd love the input. Otherwise, I think I had fun writing this one. The scene with Elizabeth is a throw-back to Philospohy Lesson if y'all haven't read it. It's all right if you haven't, maybe just a little funner... Who knows. Anyway, hope you enjoyed my Will and Barbossa in this chappy, for they shall stick around for a while! Bye for now, and happy reading!  



	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

He remained on deck to watch the sunrise. He had see it many other times, watching the sky turn from dark violet, to rosy pink, bright yellow, then finally again to beautiful sky-blue. He had memorized the progression through a sextant or a spyglass, never seeing it as he saw it that morning. Dawn slid seamlessly into the sky as it did every morning, and would continue to do so for thousands of mornings after. But this one was different for him. A dawn in every sense.

His dawn.

His dawn, to make his own, and shape the day. Everything to the contrary of what he had been taught as a young man-- the rules are there to be followed, to protect, and you are to enforce them with a stern hand. Follow the schedule, follow orders, follow the code.

Damn the code. He followed a different code now.

Honor upheld by piracy.

He laughed lightly, arms akimbo as he faced the rising sun. It heated his exposed face, red with the lingering effects of the rum. He followed what his heart told him to be right. It had once been the navy that had steered his heart, but it had suddenly run foul through the involvement of the East India Trading Company. His beloved command-- his life, as it were-- dashed against the rocks of the occupied Port Royal. Now, to save what was once his only love in life, he needed to become what he had always hated.

To uphold the honor and pride of His Majesty's Royal Navy, he must defect against it. He must become its opposite in order to save it.

Piracy, to restore the Navy.

He put the rum bottle to his lips again, savoring the bitter taste like a long-lost memory. Become a pirate to find Turner. Find Turner to find Sparrow. Find Sparrow to retrieve the heart. Retrieve the heart to slay Davy Jones. Slay Davy Jones to regain control of the sea. Regain control of the sea to restore the Navy. Restore the Navy to be rid of the pirates.

Another drink. It was gone at last.

He was no longer sure of the last step of his plan. Piracy would save the Navy-- could the Navy save piracy?

Not _should_, but _could._

"'Mornin', Mr. Norrington," said a familiar voice by his side. He looked over his shoulder to find a sprightly and eager Mr. Gibbs, a matching bottle in his own hand. Norrington nodded his own greeting. "Don' suppose you'll be wantin' a replacement, would ye?" Norrington looked down to his hand as Gibbs indicated the empty bottle. "Was headed down meself, wondered if ye'd like t' join me?"

He ended up below decks, awaiting Samuel's awakening with a fresh bottle of rum in one hand and a hand of cards in the other, facing Gibbs squarely across a small crate. Norrington's lopsided grin had remained on his features since he had plowed through half of the new bottle. Gibbs reflected it with one of his own, switching his cards around needlessly in his hand. Perhaps a superstition of some sort?

"And how was it you were roped into this business, then, Mr. Gibbs?" Norrington asked with the slightest slur in his speech. Gibbs laid down a card on the growing pile and pulled another from the dirtied deck.

"Well, Jack Sparrow has always been somethin' of a son t' me, I suppose." He paused, furrowing his greying eyebrows. "No, no, don't s'pose he was much of a son. A good friend, then, more than a captain." Norrington grinned stupidly and took another card, remembering only later that he'd forgotten to discard. "Seein' as there's somethin' I could do t' help rescue Jack, I was ready."

"There's another thing," Norrington cut in. He took a quick drink and settled back into his seat. "What's all this nonsense about Sparrow being dead if we're on our way to rescue him? I may have a bottle and a half of rum lying in my stomach, Mr. Gibbs, but I am no fool."

"Aye, that yer not, Mr. Norrington." Gibbs lay down another seven to match the three lying face-up on Norrington's side of the crate. "Truth o' the matter is, Jack Sparrow's soul now belongs to Davy Jones." He gave a short shrug. "Most likely it's gone down in the locker, seein' as ye were on the _Flying Dutchman_ and caught no sight of him."

"Davy Jones' Locker," Norrington said with a single raised eyebrow. "If I hadn't been on that bloody ship, I would say that you were mad, Mr. Gibbs." He carefully inspected his cards before laying down a king, queen, jack and ten in consecutive suit. "And how are we going about locating this locker of his?" Gibbs settled himself down, not allowing himself to be blown away by Norrington's last match before them on the crate.

"That ol' gypsy wench Tia Dalma was the one what told us where the locker might lie. Only one who knows the exact location is Cap'n Barbossa, an' I'm not sure even he knows for a fact." Gibbs took a drink, reminding Norrington to drink from his own bottle as well. "We're t' sail for the ends of the earth t' save that ol' seadog's soul." He chuckled grimly, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and laid down an even more impressive collection of cards: an ace, king, queen, jack and ten of hearts-- he was grinning like a madman. "I'm out, Mr. Norrington."

Norrington threw his unused cards on the crate before him, not bothering to count up his points. He hadn't caught that Gibbs had playfully stacked the deck, or that he, Norrington, had seven cards in his hand by the end of the game.

"And are we to outrun the _Dutchman_ and the East India Trading Company, all while in search for something as small as a locker in the vast ocean?" He asked as he took a longer drink. He was enjoying it far too much-- something about being aboard a pirate ship and consuming rum was comforting and familiar, a thought his former self would have found disgusting.

"Who's t' say the locker isn't metaphorical?" Gibbs asked, gathering up his cards. "All I know is that Cap'n Barbossa has us headin' due east, out of the Caribbean and into the wide ocean. No knowin' where we go from here."

Norrington took a sober moment to consider the dangers of leaving the Caribbean, as well as the benefits. He leaned casually backwards, taking another swig. He was beginning to lose the feeling in his tongue.

"I suppose... I should be getting back to the _Gorgon_ to report these findings to Gillette."

"Don't forget the boy, Mr. Norrington," Gibbs said with a laugh. Outside, seven bells was rung, and several hands moved about according to orders. Norrington would rather not meet again with the seething Barbossa, so he thanked Gibbs for the company and the game. He moved to where Samuel still slept and gently woke him.

"Come now, scallawag," Norrington urged with as sober a disposition he could manage. "All hands on deck." Samuel sat blearily up in his hammock.

"Captain?"

"Aye, sailor. Time we were back to the _Gorgon_. God knows what Gillette is doing without me."

"Captain, I had a strange dream," Samuel admitted as they climbed the stairs onto the open deck. Dark clouds had gathered while he'd been below decks, and a strong wind was blowing. The smell of rain was on the air.

"Oh?" Norrington asked, feeling more genial toward the boy for some odd reason.

"Yes, sir. In it, you handed me a map, with a small island circled several times in red-- it looked almost like blood. I don't remember your exact words, sir, but they were something along the lines of, 'She wants you to memorize this map.' I'm not sure who 'she' was, Captain, but it seemed very important, so I tried to remember the map as well as I could."

"Could you reproduce the map if given the time and means?" Norrington was genuinely interested, the boy's dream somewhat like his own.

"Perhaps, sir. I could try."

"There's a good lad." Norrington looked up to find Will and Elizabeth on deck, with Barbossa thankfully nowhere to be seen. "Mr. Turner the younger," he said to catch their attention. Both turned-- Elizabeth was looking slightly recovered, and Will's eyes were full of concern. "Samuel and I will be needing a longboat back to the _Gorgon_ as soon as is convenient."

Elizabeth's eyes hung on Norrington's a moment too long for Will's liking, and he stared the captain down angrily. But, thankfully, he refrained from choice words while Samuel was in their presence. Heavy footsteps approached, and Norrington winced at their coming. Barbossa had arrived.

"No man'll be leavin' my ship with the storm approachin', Mr. Norrington," Barbossa said with an important swagger as he came upon the four of them. "And when yer aboard _my_ ship, Mr. Norrington, yer no longer a captain. You an' Mr. Turner here are needed on deck t' prepare for the storm. The lady an' the boy can stow below decks t' wait it out."

"I can help," Samuel protested from behind the protection of Norrington. Barbossa caught the boy's pouting eyes but steady chin. Elizabeth mirrored the child's posture.

"So can I."

Norrington smiled despite himself. She had never quite been the kind to wait a storm out while the men met it head-on. She caught his gaze, and he diverted it quickly, cursing himself for doing so quite obviously.

"Ye've been warned, Miss Swann," the gruff captain said in a huff, moving toward Samuel and staring down at him. "And I'll be takin' no lip from a pint-sized sailor such as yerself, lad."

"The boy," Norrington growled with a quiet ferocity, "is under my command, not yours. You would kindly refrain from treating him as you would a common pirate." He immediately regretted his choice of words, for Barbossa grinned with yellow teeth.

"A pirate, eh? Now, I'm wonderin' if this is the same lad what called himself pirate t' yer crew, _Captain_ Norrington." Barbossa watched as Norrington straightened his spine awkwardly.

"Your point is made," he responded. "While on your ship I will follow your orders, Captain Barbossa, so long as you do not presume to control my personal aide, Samuel."

"Agreed," Barbossa said roughly. "Now, get t' work on those sails-- they won't furl themselves, will they lads?" He strode away, laughing as the dark clouds blotted the sun from the sky. Elizabeth crossed her arms defiantly as she watched him go.

"I can't stand that man," she said with slitted eyes. Will sighed, watching her eyes sadly.

"He's our only chance of finding Jack," he said with defeat in his voice. The first rain began to fall on deck as Will moved out onto deck to follow Barbossa's orders, glaring at Norrington as he passed. Elizabeth looked sadly between the two men, as if to say, "I'm sorry about him," before she strode off after him. Norrington looked down at Samuel as the raindrops began to grow in size.

"I am sorry to say so, but I believe that Captain Barbossa was right. You should return below decks before the storm escalates any further." Samuel's eyebrows furrowed indignantly, but he knew better than to disobey orders. "Perhaps ask one of the crew members for a spare bit of parchment to sketch out that map." The boys features lifted slightly, and he gave a salute before running to the stairs and disappearing below deck.

Norrington watched the dark-haired head disappear with a sad grin. The boy reminded him of himself. Especially the his unwillingness to follow certain orders. His first punishment had been on a day much like this, in fact. He had been older than Samuel, fifteen to be exact, but his ideas were larger than his head. He'd been simply "James" then, and served under Captain Harris of the Royal Navy. He had spoken out against a direct order, and a whip had met his back five times for his insolence. Upon his arrival in port, his father has simply laughed and claimed that he was more of a man for his experience.

He shook his head grimly and moved toward the mast, following Elizabeth and Will.

His hands took familiar hold of the ratlines, a motion long-forgotten in his ascension through the ranks. With a practiced strength, he pulled himself up toward the mainmast, where Will, Elizabeth and a few other sailors were beginning to furl the maintopsail. He, too, gathered handfuls of sail and began to pull the sail safely to its resting place. The rain came harder the further they sailed into the blackness overhead. Elizabeth was directly to his left, Will further down the spar. Lightning flared somewhere in the distance, and the loud crack of thunder fell over them.

The wind suddenly caught in the half-furled sail, billowing it from their hands. One sailor cried out something intangible against the howling wind. It was too late by the time Norrington had thrown out his hand. Elizabeth's grip on the spar had loosened, and she began her long tumble toward the deck. Norrington leapt without thinking, grabbing onto the spar with one hand and arching down to grab a slippery hold on Elizabeth's hand. She gripped it fiercely, nearly popping his shoulder from its socket in the process. The rain made both of his hands dangerously slick, and he was only able to keep his hold on the spar with the sudden help of William Turner, who had grabbed his hand just as he had caught Elizabeth.

"Is she all right?" Will asked against the gale and the flapping of the sail. Norrington grunted against the weight being thrown onto his arm as Elizabeth dangled.

"Let us ask these questions when we have returned to the spar, shall we?" He rebutted, gritting his teeth as he pulled Elizabeth up to his chest. She shivered in fear and through the cold as she locked her arms safely around Norrington's neck. He didn't have time to worry about the sudden flush in his cheeks as Will and another crewman pulled the two of them back up onto the spar.

Three looks were interchanged-- Elizabeth to Will, Will to Norrington, Norrington to Elizabeth. That was all they needed. The work on the sail continued as if it had not been interrupted.

The sail had finally been caught and controlled. Once only the mainsails were left to catch the wind, the sailors had returned to the deck, taking whatever shelter could be found from the torrents. Norrington was surprised when not only Elizabeth but also William joined him under an outcropping. Elizabeth held two steaming cups in her hands, and Will held one of his own. She offered the captain one of the cups, and he accepted with a head-nod. Thank God-- it wasn't tea. After being with the East India Trading Company, he'd had his fill of tea. A black, almost thick cup of coffee met his eyes. Perhaps from the middle east... who was to know where this ship had been?

"Thank you," Will said at last, the first to speak. He hadn't looked up from his cup. Norrington raised his eyebrows without looking up as well. That was his response. Elizabeth looked between the two and made a small, irritated sound in the back of her throat.

"Would you two _stop _that?" Both men looked to her sharp eyes. "Look, Jack was on Isla Cruces, too, and yet here we are, out to rescue him." She looked at Will. "Jack is our friend, and he's a rotten scoundrel of a pirate. Why can't we say the same of James?"

Something flashed in Will's eyes. He, too, then, must know something of the way Jack and Elizabeth had flirted mercilessly aboard the _Black Pearl_. Norrington kept his eyes down.

"Say what of me?" Norrington said at last. "That I am your friend, or a rotten scoundrel of a pirate?" He watched with a smirk as Elizabeth's mouth turned up slightly at his remark.

"Everyone needs a friend."

"Elizabeth," Norrington began after taking a long drink of the hot liquid she had given him, "it is very understandable that William is loath to place his trust in me so soon after I betrayed him-- betrayed all of you. It is smarter of him to distrust me than to place, perhaps, false hope in me. His logic is perfectly understandable."

"No," Will said quickly to interject. Norrington's head shot up. Will's eyes met his. "I'm being stubborn. Elizabeth is right." He held out a hand. "You deserve another chance."

They met eyes-- this time, nothing was hidden.

Norrington gripped his hand in tight brotherhood. A half-smirk seized his lips as his hand returned to his side. "Your father is rightly proud." Will tried to smile at the compliment, but failed.

"We'll get the heart back," Elizabeth urged, placing her arms comfortingly around Will's shoulders. "Once we have Jack, we can get the heart back."

"Only God can help us until then," Will murmured into her hair, returning the embrace.

Norrington looked anywhere but to the two of them, sipping lightly on his quickly cooling coffee.

* * *

AN: Woah, no narrative breaks in this chapter! Go me! Heh, anyway, I hope this one follows the tradition of being good and stuff. I tried really hard to get Will in character, but he's just... hard. Harder, I think, than Barbossa. Probably because he's conflicted at this point he's not sure what he should be doing. Oh well. I'm having fun and I hope some of you other folks out there are. Tell me anything that needs fixed and I'll see to it. Thanks, and happy reading!  



	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Somewhere far off, a woman was screaming.

A man pushed him backwards, gently but firmly. "Get below, James!" A gruff voice, stern, overbearing, shockingly familiar. Dangerous green eyes bore into his own, and the wooden door was slammed in his face. He threw himself against it, frustrated, calling out after the man.

"Father!" He cried desperately, crashing his fists against the door. Behind him, the smallest midshipmen had shied into a corner, crying. Outside the door, the clang of swords and the dull thud of cannon fire filled the air. Growling, he pulled the sword out of his scabbard, the uniform draping his thin frame signifying his rank as midshipman.

Another charge at the door, and the lock splintered under his weight. He tumbled slightly, fighting to regain his footing.

The bosun fell dead across his path, spattering blood across his face. His frightened eyes looked up at the dark man standing above him, cutlass dripping with gore and a wide captain's hat shading his eyes. Flames lit the entire deck, outlining the killer in a Hell-like blaze. He stared up from his position on the planks, and he was afraid.

_Someone put out the fire_.

"Don' worry, lad," the hollow voice from the man overhead came in a low rumble. "We'll kill ye nice and quick-like."

He stabbed upwards with his sword just as the other man's came plunging down at him. The opposing sword slashed through his shoulder. His own was fixed deep in the man's chest. One fell over dead while the other desperately scrambled to his feet.

Screaming. Fire. Smoke. Death. Blood.

_For the love of God, someone put out the fire!_

"James!"

His eyes met those of his father, rushing toward him.

"Damn your eyes, James, I told you--"

A shot, fatal, ripped through his father's chest, killing him on the instant. The boy caught his father in his arms, falling to his knees with the body's momentum. The blood seeped through his white shirt, staining him through and through. Admiral Norrington lay dead in his arms. Hot, harsh tears rolled down his face, the sword useless at his side.

A rough hand grabbed him, pulling him away from his father toward the longboat. The other survivors were hurrying off the drowning ship. He struggled against the grip.

"No!" He cried, lashing out at his savior. "NO! I won't go!" He reached out for the body of his father. The dark shadows of men dashed about the deck, pockets full of stolen goods. "I won't go! _Father!_" Sobs caught dry in his chest. "_FATHER!_"

He was thrown bodily into the longboat, the familiar lieutenant holding him tight to keep him from leaping back onto the ship. He was shouting such nonsense as, "He's dead, James!" and "Let him go!" They lowered away, the boy frantically beating at his shipmates, watching his father's dead body disappear as the boat was lowered into the bloody waters below. The second ship loomed over them, the skull and crossbones clearly defined against the fire and the smoke.

"James!"

His eyes opened, and immediately, everything was blurred. Elizabeth's concerned eyes were hanging over him, and he felt a cool hand on his warm cheek. He was aware that the hard planks, not the soft hammock, were supporting him. He also realized that his vision was blurred not by rum, but by the tears from his dream. Something caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes tightly, feeling them spill down his face. No, not in front of Elizabeth...

"Oh, James..."

She held him tightly in her kneeled embrace. He never allowed a sob to wrack his chest, as he so longed to do. No, only the silence and the tears. He buried his face against her shoulder, holding her tight in comfort. He was vaguely aware of her voice in his ear, her hands holding him like a child awoke from a nightmare. He fought back everything fighting to escape, and soon his lapse had ended.

He extracted himself from her arms against his will and turned his eyes to the ground their knees lay upon. He didn't need to see her eyes to know the questions hidden there.

"Pirates destroyed the ship under my father's command." His voice was low, flat, lifeless. "He was killed in the struggle. Only seven of us escaped." He allowed no more on the subject, as if he had not let a single tear escape.

"Will... Will you be all right?" Elizabeth asked. Norrington hung his head, not wanting to look at her, lest he make a rash decision in his weakness.

"Yes," he answered at last. He wondered vaguely how he had come to rest outside his hammock, but did not question the matter. He stood, compensating for the roll of the ship, and she matched him. In the hammock beside his, Samuel was fast asleep and snoring. It brought the smallest smile to his lips.

"He's a bright boy," Elizabeth said, catching his gaze.

"That he is," Norrington responded flatly. He sighed, body and soul aching, as he turned to Elizabeth. "Get some rest. Do not resist on my behalf."

For a moment, it seemed as if she would not comply, but at last she nodded. Before moving away, she squeezed his hand, saying without words: "I'm here, should you need me." She moved away into darkness, Norrington's eyes following her despite his better judgement.

Leaning back in his hammock, he closed his eyes to forget. But he could only remember. Remember the feel of her in his arms, her hand holding tightly to his own.

He needed a drink.

Perhaps only minutes later-- perhaps longer, he had no way of knowing-- he was stowed at the lowest point in the ship, where the rum was stored. His back was against the hull, a bottle in his hand as he dazed in and out of rum-induced sleep. He was humming an inane tune to himself, not noticing the shadow that was slowly approaching in the darkness. Another drink from the bottle, and he was sure that he was finally going to sleep.

That is, if not for the small blue eyes peeking out from behind the nearest wooden pole. Norrington glanced their way, then sighed sadly to himself.

"Reveal yourself, Samuel," he bade. The boy did as he was told, nervously moving to stand over the man with the nearly empty rum bottle. They stared for a long moment before Samuel moved to sit beside him.

"Captain Norrington, sir," he began, his voice trying to be bold. "Why are you drinking all by yourself?" Norrington gave the boy a bewildered look, then set the bottle aside with something of embarrassment.

"Well, Samuel," he said with studied slowness, "adults sometimes find comfort in alcohol, particularly when they want to forget something."

"Why would you want to forget Miss Elizabeth?" The question was as innocent as could be, Norrington still felt the ache in his heart. So the boy had been awake for the whole ordeal. He wondered vaguely if he had cried out and woken the two of them during his sleep.

"Did you know that quite some time ago, Miss Elizabeth and I were engaged to be married?" He itched to take another drink, but refrained while in the presence of the boy. Samuel's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"No, sir, I didn't." Samuel looked around, as if to check if Elizabeth were listening in. "What happened to make you _not_ engaged, sir?"

"A blacksmith happened," Norrington answered dully. He sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose that I was not the man Elizabeth wanted to spend the rest of her life with."

_I could have spent it with her..._

His hand moved for the bottle, but he stayed it. Samuel was a very effective deterrent.

"I'm sorry, sir," Samuel said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Norrington stoppered the rum bottle and let it roll away into darkness.

"No need to worry yourself about it, young Samuel. There is nothing that can be done in that respect." He moved to stand, but the rum clouded his vision and he stumbled. Samuel caught the man to balance him, and helped him stand to his full height. Norrington smiled at the helplessness of the situation, help from a ten-year-old midshipman to stand on his own.

"Sir, you need air," Samuel shifted Norrington's weight, one of the captain's long arms draped over his young shoulders. "Come on, let's get up to the deck."

Through some minor struggles, Samuel managed to help Norrington up to the fresh air of the deck. The storm had washed over them and had ended only three hours ago. The sails had been pulled out again, and were now flapping in the sea-flavored wind. Samuel propped Norrington up against the mast and pulled back to inspect his drunken captain.

"Even if it helps you forget Miss Elizabeth," he said as he sat on the nearby capstan, "I think this drinking business is dangerous, Captain Norrington." The man smiled, meeting the boy's eyes.

"Yes," he admitted. "But then again, so is piracy." He waved a general hand at the ship, the sea, and the _Gorgon_ following behind. "Yet here we are."

They allowed the sound of the sea to wash over them as they stood in silent reverence of her power and grace. Samuel shifted uncomfortably again, as if speaking to a captain were something he'd been told never to do.

"Sir, if I might ask..." He furrowed his brows in concentration. "Who exactly is this Jack Sparrow fellow, and why are we trying to find him?" Norrington grinned.

"Jack Sparrow is a pirate." He knew this wasn't enough, but it felt like a good starting place. "He came to Port Royal upon my ascension to Commodore, and I believe everything fell apart from that point. He is the worst pirate I've ever known, and he single-handedly ruined my career and my livelihood." Samuel cocked his head. This wasn't exactly what he'd expected. "But, as it turns out, Sparrow is also the only man to take the heart of Davy Jones out from under Beckett's nose. He is a master of deceit and trickery, turning against his own friends if he finds it beneficial to his own well-being."

"Sir, I don't think you've answered my question," Samuel said. "If Mr. Sparrow is as bad as you say he is, why is it that all of these people-- Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Turner, Captain Barbossa and yourself-- are trying to rescue him?"

"There are those who say Mr. Sparrow, under his rogue exterior, is a good man after all. Elizabeth is one of those people-- she sees the good in those who, perhaps, do not deserve it." His face fell. "She saw it in _me_."

Samuel gave the man a confused, concerned look. He said nothing, probably for the better. Norrington slumped down to the deck, sleep finally taking him.

He woke when six bells was rung, Samuel nestled protectively under his arm and fast asleep.

* * *

The boy was already lowered into the longboat, and Norrington was soon to follow after. Will and Elizabeth had come to see them off. Barbossa was standing moodily aside, miffed that their progress had to be halted in order to allow Norrington and Samuel back to the _Gorgon_. Elizabeth caught him in a chaste embrace, having already placed a kiss on Samuel's brow.

"We'll send any news through Cotton's parrot," Elizabeth told him. She smiled at his odd look. "Seems somewhere in his family tree there was a nest of messenger birds." Norrington raised an eyebrow, but did not question the logic. He moved to Will, shaking the man's hand generously.

"Take care," he told the blacksmith, and was surprised to find he meant it. Will nodded in reply.

Norrington climbed down into the longboat, taking a seat beside Samuel and facing the oarsmen-- the wooden-eyed pirate and his balding friend. Norrington had never taken the time to find out, nor cared what their names were. He knew that they were a bit thicker than the rest of the pirates aboard the _Black Pearl_ had been. He shrugged it off as they pushed off into the open water between the _Agrias_ and the _Gorgon._ The two pirates began talking amongst themselves, arguing about one thing or another.

"First we's under Cap'n Jack," the balding pirate began, not even giving notice to Norrington and Samuel, "then Cap'n Barbossa goes an' takes over the ship, then Cap'n Jack gets 'er back again, now we're back under Cap'n Barbossa. Y'think we'll ever get a new captain or we'll keep switchin' back an' forth like such?"

"Well, way I sees it," his companion with a wooden eye said, waxing philosophically, "we're smack in th' middle o' Cap'ns Jack and Barbossa's eternal struggle 'twixt one another, an' there's no way gettin' out of it 'less both of 'em dies." He paused to scratch at his unruly stubble. "Tragically, o' course."

"Tragically," his companion echoed, nodding his head.

Norrington and Samuel exchanged a raised eyebrow, and the younger of which tried not to laugh.

They were pulled aboard by Buckler and Gillette, who greeted them warmly. Gillette held half a smile on his lips as he shook his captain's hand.

"Almost thought we'd lost you to the sirens, James," Gillette said amiably. Norrington clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder, glad to hear the man fallen into familiarity so quickly.

"I'll not be so quickly deterred," he answered with a grin of his own. He was glad to see that his own crew had not fallen into the begrimed state of that of the _Agrias_, a little bit of the Navy still flowing in their veins. The structure remained, yet is seemed more lax. They were slowly turning into pirates.

As they began to walk down the deck, Norrington placed his arms behind his back. "Tell me, Nathan, what I have missed in my small detour aboard the _Agrias_?"

"Not much," he said honestly, surveying the deck. "Harry Buckler has been doing an admirable job as second lieutenant, but the crew seems so much more attentive when you are on deck." Norrington nodded, sweeping his eyes across the beaming faces that met his.

"There is only one thing I can find to correct aboard this ship, lieutenant," he said with a stiffened spine. Gillette shifted almost nervously.

"Sir?" He fell back into routine slightly. That ended when Norrington reached up and snatched the wig off Gillette's head and tossed it into the sea. He stood in shock for a moment, which gave Norrington time to say:

"We're pirates now, Nathan." A wide grin. "Time to start acting like one."

Gillette stood, unsure of what to think, as if his anchor had been cut and he was drifting helplessly at sea. Norrington inspected him worriedly, but Gillette quickly shook his head, loosing some of the dark hair only previously glimpsed.

"Right," he said quickly, finding something to tie his hair back with. He glanced once more at the wig slowly floating away on the waves.

"Captain Norrington," came Samuel's small voice suddenly beside them. Norrington looked down with fondness.

"Yes, sailor?"

"I finished the map from my dream..." He dug into his midshipman's jacket, giving Gillette enough time to shoot Norrington an incredulous glance. When the parchment was in Norrington's hand, he gave it a strange glance. "It's exactly what I remember, sir, but it just suddenly stops."

It had been carefully reproduced, painstaking details filled in. But, as the boy said, it seemed as if cut straight in half, though it didn't take up more than half the parchment. An invisible line stopped the drawing's progress across the page.

"It's like the end of the world, or something," Samuel said ominously. Norrington's brow furrowed slightly.

_"We're t' sail for the ends of the earth t' save that ol' seadog's soul."_

Gibbs' words hung in his mind, unable to be dislodged. Trying to forget his apprehension, he ruffled Samuel's hair.

"You could be a mapmaker, young Samuel. You have quite a talent."

The boy beamed. "Thank you, sir." He then rushed off to help in the duties of the other crew members. Both men watched him go, then turned their attentions to the reproduced dream map. The circle of blood Samuel had mentioned had also been reproduced, though in ink, thankfully. It circled a named island, just before the invisible line ended the illustration.

Taiwan.

Gillette and Norrington glanced at each other, eyebrows raised at equal length. What on earth was Norrington doing in Samuel's dream, handing him a map to Taiwan, and asking him to memorize it on "her" behalf?

Questions unanswered, Norrington rolled up the parchment, stuck it in the inside pocket of his brown longcoat and ordered another sail run out to keep up with the _Agrias_.

* * *

AN: Ahoy, mateys! I think I'm just gonna go ahead and say this: Ahead, there may be PotC 3 spoilers. I know next to nothing about the 3rd film, but what I do know may have influenced my opinions slightly. So, certain stuff may have a hint of spoiler to 'em. But I don't suspect they will be completely prevailent. I also don't know if Taiwan was called Taiwan when PotC takes place... But is PotC itself entirely historically accurate? No, and we love it that way. :D Hope things are still up to par, and hope no one minded Sappy!James there in the beginning. Huzzah, and happy reading!  



	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Norrington sat at the stern, the rudder creaking behind him. They had turned their two-ship fleet south as they neared Africa, and as such the weather had turned more foul. Norrington had his longcoat pulled tight around him, as well as a scarf dangling loosely around his neck. He had a sea chart in one hand, Samuel's handmade map in the other. He had studied both numerous times, and that day was no exception. The brisk wind was blowing from starboard, and the _Agrias_ was sailing brightly away, more than a shot from the long nines. He brushed an arrant strand of hair from his face, then returned to his work.

He compared the small parchment to the full map in his other hand, finding each landmark on Samuel's map and adding it to his more detailed sea chart. He had circled Taiwan on his sea chart, just as the young midshipman had on the small reproduction. He measured out the distances carefully, making every significant mark he discovered.

Gillette arrived midday with steaming coffee for the both of them, something borrowed from the hold of the _Agrias_. Norrington rolled up the charts and allowed the man to sit beside him. Each held the drink between two hands, warming themselves against the relentlessly biting coastal wind. They could barely make out the grey outline of land to port.

"We're coming to the Cape of Good Hope," Norrington said quietly, his voice almost carried away by the wind. "Maybe later today, maybe tomorrow, depending on whether the winds favor us or not." Gillette took a warm drink, smiling in the direction of land.

"I feel sooner rather than later," he said, grinning like a child. Norrington had found it strange that a man could change so much with the simple motion of tossing a wig overboard. He had become suddenly friendly, genial, and-- just perhaps, Norrington thought-- a bit more like a pirate. No, he hadn't dipped into the rum or flogged a sailor within inches of life. But something about Gillette suddenly screamed "reckless abandon." Norrington smiled into his mug.

"We'll stop in Cape Town to restock our water supply and take on more food and such. Perhaps acquire more of this coffee from our dear friend Captain Barbossa." Norrington had a way of referring to the captain as "our dear friend" or "that darling man." Playful pirate rivalry?

"Speaking of your pirate compatriot," Gillette said after taking a drink of the thick coffee, "have you received anything new?"

"Just this morning," Norrington replied, pulling out a small roll of paper. "Elizabeth sends her best. It seems William has taken to lying in his hammock, worrying himself about his father. I replied that he need not fret, and he should get to work before I board the ship and _make_ him work." He grinned, re-reading the note. "Captain Barbossa seems edgy that we should put in at such a populated port, and I returned something to the effect of the _Gorgon_ putting in while the _Agrias_ stays to sea."

"How are we to get the supplies for his ship to him? Float them over?"

Norrington shrugged, leaning back and watching his scarf flutter slightly. "I wait impatiently for his reply."

Gillette had gone back to the main deck, and Samuel had decided to sit beside the captain when Cotton's parrot returned with a scrap of paper attached to his leg. Samuel looked up in amazement at the bright bird. He ruffled his feathers and flapped his wings as Norrington removed the message.

"Any port in a storm!" The parrot cackled, bobbing his head toward Samuel, who grinned. As Norrington read the scribbled note, Cotton's parrot sidestepped on the railing toward Samuel, both cocking their heads at one another.

"Does he have a name, Captain Norrington?" Samuel asked, prodding a finger toward the bird. It shied back, squawking, "Man overboard!" Norrington glanced sideways, pretending to read as he watched the two of them with a guarded smile.

"I believe he is simply 'Cotton's Parrot.'"

"Hard a-starboard!" Cotton's parrot replied.

"I think he needs a name." The bird finally allowed Samuel to stroke its colorful feathers, cooing softly.

"By all means, name him then," Norrington said, running his eyes over Elizabeth's hurried scrawl.

Samuel squinted and cocked his head again in thought. "I think he looks like a Christopher Parrot to me." Norrington closed his eyes.

"It's a fine name," he said. Christopher had been his father's name. He quickly wrote a reply-- short and sweet-- on the back of Elizabeth's message and reattached it to the parrot's leg. It seemed annoyed that Norrington was interrupting his time with Samuel's affections.

"Drop anchor, ahoy!" He screeched. Norrington fixed the parrot with a deadly glare.

"Deliver this back to Elizabeth," he commanded. The parrot whistled and took off. Samuel watched its departure with sad eyes. He turned back to his captain, who had pulled out the small map of Taiwan again.

"What did Miss Elizabeth have to say, sir?" He asked, settling again into his seat beside Norrington. The elder raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Well, ever-inquisitive Samuel, she returned that Captain Barbossa would not join us at Cape Town but would pull into a secluded cove not far from port." He paused for a moment. "Would you care to come ashore with Mr. Gillette, Mr. Buckler and myself to purchase supplies?" The boy's eyes lit up.

"Really?" His voice was high with glee, but he returned to himself and quickly added, "--sir?" Norrington laughed, and was glad for the sound.

"Yes, _really_." He ruffled the boy's hair. "In fact, I wouldn't dream of making the trip without you." The boy's wide smile only brought a larger grin to his own face. "Now--" He stood, wincing at the pain in his back, "--I need to inform the coxswain of this new development. Care to take the air with me?"

Samuel was unsure of what "take the air" meant, but he gladly joined the captain as they visited Mr. Wainscot and his position at the helm.

The weather held, allowing them to make an easy journey to Cape Town. The wind had lost most of its chill as they neared land, and Norrington had given his scarf to the boy when he had spoken embarrassedly of shivers. The captain had retrieved his three-pointed hat from his cabin, remembering bitterly that he had no mirror in which to check its position on his head. While ashore at a respectable colony city, he wanted to attract as little attention as possible. If the East India Trading Company held as close a hold on the African colonies as it did the Caribbean, then Beckett may be looking for him. Or, he thought with much gritting of his teeth, more likely he had put a watch out for the more valuable possession: the _Gorgon_.

The _Agrias_ left them as soon as the city came into view. The sun was being pulled low across the horizon, the sky more pink and yellow than blue. Norrington trusted those aboard the _Agrias_ would not sail off without him. _But_, he thought, _if they did, we still have Samuel's map._ He straightened his spine and walked out onto the deck again to face the four men coming ashore with him.

Nathaniel Gillette, his dark hair tamed and pulled into a queue behind his head to match his own, suppressing a somewhat mischievous grin. Harry Buckler, scar obscuring his right eye completely, but the other shining with pride and trust in his captain. Frank Wainscot, coxswain and loyal sailor aboard the _Gorgon_ as long as she had been afloat in the Caribbean. Finally, Samuel McCormick, much shorter than the other three, but boasting such rousing spirit and bold enthusiasm that spoke beyond his years and stature.

Norrington grinned at his choices, then turned to the rest of the crew.

"I hope that you lot follow closely the orders of Mr. Jamison while we are ashore. Should I hear of any misbehavior, it shall be desk-swabbing for the responsible party." A confidant look was exchanged here and there, knowing the threat to be little more than just that.

A rousing, "Aye, sir!" followed his remarks, and an odd pride swelled in his chest.

Twilight was falling as men rushed out on the wharf to grab the lines thrown from the _Gorgon_. She was quickly and effectively tied down, and the gangplank was lowered without a hitch. The five of them made their way down, and Norrington dug into his pockets to pay the man before him for allowing them to tie up. Three silver coins plinked into his hand-- a generous offering, and the man did not forget it.

"Captain Harris," Norrington told the man, with lowered eyebrows. He took the hint, and the bribe, effectively. They strolled confidently off the wharf and into the marketplace. The lanterns were either already lit or were in the process of being so. A fort loomed to the west, reminding him much of Port Royal. He shook off the memories.

"Mr. Wainscot," he said, drawing the man to attention. "You are to supply both ships with adequate amounts of water. I am sure the fellow selling it to you will be more than happy to carry our portion to the _Gorgon_, while you take the other out to the _Agrias_. The cove should not be more than a mile down the coastline." He turned to Buckler. "Mr. Buckler, if you be so kind as to appropriate the food supplies for both ships as well? Should you need assistance?"

"No, Captain," Buckler replied with a grin. "I figure I should be able to manage."

"Should either of you need me, seek me out immediately. I will not leave the market until--" He pulled out his pocket watch, "--nine o' clock."

"Aye, sir," Buckler and Wainscot said, the latter saluting as he left. Norrington, Gillette and Samuel were left in the bustling street heading straight through the middle of town. They watched a carriage go slowly by, headed for what was undoubtedly the Governor's house. Norrington watched it go with a raised eyebrow.

"What's our job, sir?" Samuel asked. Norrington grinned.

"Ours is the most important. What we seek is information."

So it was that the three of them separated amongst the buyers. Samuel spoke to the merchants, laying on the sweetness and receiving valuable information in return. Gillette sought his answers near the fort, using his time among such men to gain trust as well as some interesting knowledge. Norrington, of course, sauntered into the tavern.

It was lively, thought not as much as a certain Tortuga tavern Norrington wished very much to forget. There were no brawls in this tavern. It was filled mostly with privateers, looking as tired and haggard as he apparently did, for no one looked up when he entered. He nonchalantly sidled up to the bar and ordered something light. He didn't have to wait long for the single man beside him to get slobbering drunk.

"That sounds terrible," Norrington said as he refilled his glass as well as the man's glass.

"Damn right, it's terrible," the man coughed in a strange mix of English accent and Southern American accent. "Goddamned tariffs, goddamned East India Company, chargin' me more'n my fair share." He pointed a severe finger at Norrington, who backed away slightly. "I'll tell y' what, son, that company's gonna put us hard-workin' privateers out'a business."

"I feel your pain," Norrington said behind a false smile. "I don't suppose, then, you've heard anything about a certain Lord Beckett?" It was a stab in the dark, but the man beside him furrowed his brows in concentration.

"Beckett, eh?" He scratched the half-shaven stubble on his chin. "Beckett... _Beckett_... Short chap, got a bit of a stink-eye about him?" Norrington wondered if, indeed, this fit the description of his former employer. "What I heard he's pitchin' a right fit over losin' a ship of his. Somethin' Greek-- _Medusa_? Nah..."

Norrington smiled, imagining Beckett curled into a fetal position, kicking his feet and demanding the return of his beloved _Gorgon_.

"I met him not five days ago, somewhere off the coast 'o Brazil, methinks." He shook his head, taking another drink. "No, wasn't him. One of his lieutenants or somesuch... I had a bone t' pick with him, but they told me I couldn't see him. Bloody coward..." He gulped the drink down his throat, finishing it. "Somethin' about some git named Norri-something. Norrison, yeah, that's the chap. Ran away with his boat. Mumbled some nonsense about the _Flying Dutchman_ and had me kicked off the ship. The nerve, am I right?"

"Right." Norrington's face had gone pale. He placed the money on the bar and walked away without thanking the man or saying goodbye.

Norrington was sitting on an unmarked crate left unattended on the wharf, elbows on his knees, clutched hands at his mouth in thought. Samuel was the first to arrive back, a length of rope supported on his shoulders. He was grinning from ear to ear as he sat on the ground directly in front of Norrington.

"I asked what you told me, sir, and I also got this rope!" His smile faded when he noticed Norrington's worried brow and slumped posture. "Sir? Captain Norrington? What happened?"

"Nothing," he responded uselessly. "I think... Lord Beckett may be after us."

"Impossible," came an amiable voice from behind. A hand was slapped on each of the captain's shoulder as Gillette came up behind Norrington. He jumped, not expecting the attack. "Dear old Beckett is camped in Port Royal as we speak, sucking his proverbial thumb." He patted Norrington on the shoulder then took a seat on the crate next to his. "Apparently, he is afraid to take on the open ocean. I wonder what could have given him that fear?" Both of their eyes turned to Samuel as he stood.

"No one's heard anything about Davy Jones," he said quickly, wanting to input his own findings. "I think he's afraid of taking on the Navy, just like you said, Captain Norrington." Finally, Norrington pulled a smirk.

"Davy Jones, taking my advice?" He looked up to see the two of them watching him with encouraging eyes. "Well, I suppose I should be flattered."

The _Agrias_ had not left them after all. Once both ships had been safely loaded down, Wainscot and Buckler returned to the _Gorgon_ and captain finally aboard, they were untied from the wharf. Samuel and Gillette sat in Norrington's cabin into the dead of night as the three of them reviewed what they had learned in Cape Town that evening.

Samuel had kept to the subject of Davy Jones as well as he could around superstitious merchants and privateers. He learned little more than he had related to his captain. Those who _did_ believe in the mysterious sailor simply stated that they knew nothing about him. One old seadog had offered information tangible to the boy's efforts: rumors had been circulating about a sudden cowardice taking ahold of the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. No mysterious disappearances, no attacks from the famed Kraken, and certainly no news that he planned any full-on attack on the British Royal Navy. Norrington rewarded the boy's efforts with warm tea and a comfortable blanket. He was soon asleep, curled against Norrington's chest as they sat side by side on his bed.

Gillette had more to offer from his trip to the fort. Cracking into a biscuit, he told of his fortuitous stumbling upon an old friend shipped out through the army, one David Burnside. He was able to gather a small group of redcoats together to speak of the injustices done to the sea by the East India Trading Company. Most granted that the company was not so much the problem as was its proprietors. When Gillette had mentioned the name Beckett, a flame of argument went up amongst the men. Apparently, it was an army soft-spot. He got numerous takes on the cowardly Beckett, holed up in the Caribbean with the entire navy surrounding him, cannons pointed seaward. Gillette had promised to write Burniside, now that he had found him.

"At least we know Beckett isn't after us with that armada," Norrington said, quietly aware of the sleeping boy leaning against him.

"Have you ever been to India?" Gillette asked, seeming to ignore the conversation of the previous hours. Norrington shook his head.

"No. I've never left the Atlantic. I suppose I shall be useless in the Indian Ocean."

"At the very least, we can say we won't be making the trip in summer," Gillette said as he took another bite of his biscuit. "I've heard the Indian sun drives even men such as yourself mad."

"I'll be sure to take that into account, Nathan."

The first lieutenant left after minute conversation, and Norrington settled Samuel onto the bed rather than leaning against him. He moved to his desk, taking his seat and pulling out his sea charts again. Studying them into the morning, when he finally laid his head down and fell into dreamless sleep.

* * *

AN: Really, this is more of an intermediate chapter before the action starts up again. I lied to someone, saying that a new character would show up in this chapter. I'M SORRY! Anyway, hope I'm not boring everyone to death with all this exposition. But I do love it so. Oh my goodness... I realized that there are no narrative breaks in this chapter either! Woo! ANYway, like to thank every single one of my reviewers (love you all! beautiful! stupendous!) and hope I don't get crucified for holding off the action for another chapter! Happy reading!  



	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

"Shore up that sail! Hold tight to the lines! For God's sake, Samuel, tie yourself down!"

Norrington shielded his eyes against the next wave that leapt onto the deck of the _Gorgon_, knocking him against the nearby foremast. He held his head, stars shining before his dazed eyes. The ship rolled beneath him, and his hand grasped a dangling line to keep from being swept overboard. Samuel did as he was instructed, rainwater pouring into his eyes as he fastened a rope around his midsection.

"Buckler! Get those men down from the masts! I want every man on deck or below!"

"Sir, the sails--"

"Damn the sails! Let them rip to ribbons, just get those sailors down here!" Norrington held tight to one of the lifelines, pulling himself across the deck as another wave pelted the _Gorgon_. He spat the salty water from his mouth, continuing on until he was side-by-side with Gillette, who was trying desperately to hold a hat atop his head.

"Rather convenient, isn't it?" Gillette shouted over the gale. "That we hit a storm just as we round the cape? Almost feels as if we're being conspired against." Norrington held out a hand to help Samuel join them, the stout rope still securely attached to him.

"Conspiracy or not, I need the men out of these sails," he said, peering up at the few men left trying to haul the sails up. He nodded at Gillette slightly. "Let it go, Nathan." The man gave him a slightly odd look before remembering his struggle with the hat. Shrugging, he let it fly into the wind, not able to pierce the curtain of rain to see where it might be off to.

His hand curled defensively around Samuel's arm, holding him close despite the rope tying him down. The boy had refused to go below on numerous occasions, sticking beside his captain like a barnacle. Since he had been jolted awake by the roll of the storm, finding himself curled in a cocoon in the captain's bed, the man himself fighting with every limb to keep the ship afloat, Samuel had struggled to stay at Norrington's side.

"Nathan," Norrington called, bracing against the next wave, "take Samuel to my cabin and stay there!"

"Afraid I can't do that, James," Gillette answered. "The boy is quite incapable of leaving your side and it seems as though I am as well."

Norrington gave him a stern look that was assaulted by sea water. He smiled uselessly as he wiped his eyes free of water, shaking his head at their collective stubbornness. He set his hand on Gillette's arm briefly before nodding up toward the men making their way down from the mast.

As it turned out, the rounding of the cape was slightly more eventful than he had originally planned.

The clouds had cleared and parted to show the path set new and sparkling before them: the Indian Ocean stretched forward, with no land in sight. The cape disappeared behind them as twilight closed in about the ships. The sounds of the sea echoed against the wooden hull: the waves breaking, seafoam bubbling, the occasional long-lost gull cawing against the approaching darkness, and the distinct sound of silverware clinking against a china plate.

Norrington sat at the captain's table, Gillette, Buckler, Wainscot and Samuel sitting with him in the dim candlelight. Broiled sailfish adorned their plates, the latter kindly provided by the East India Trading Company. Samuel seemed put off by the fishy taste, but the men took to it as if partaking of their last meal. They were orderly, though a relaxed attitude hung between them. Nothing was expected of them in this cabin, but through the deep respect felt for one another and especially their captain, they were civil and genial.

Norrington held the glass of wine in one hand, swirling it inconclusively. Buckler had engaged Wainscot in a conversation concerning the broken spar which had yet to be repaired, as well as the torn maintopsail, which had been shredded by the wind of the morning's storm. Samuel had been watching Norrington since the man had begun staring at his wine. The captain flicked his eyes to the boy, still lidded. Samuel gave an encouraging smile, which Norrington reflected.

"What say we find something a bit stronger?" He asked confidentially. Samuel gave a furtive look around the cabin, then shrugged with a puckish smile. Norrington stood, and Gillette, still not washed clean of his navy regimen, stood quickly to match his captain. He suddenly flushed under the combined gazes of his shipmates before sitting again and trying to look interested in Buckler and Wainscot's conversation. Samuel followed Norrington out onto deck.

Once the rum had been found and uncorked, Norrington leaned casually, elbows behind him on the railing. The stars were obscured by lingering rain clouds, but the smell of the sea was enough to comfort the man. Samuel had acquire a flask of water for himself, feeling warmth in his chest simply by being included. The boy ran a hand through his hair, wishing the breeze was stronger, before turning to his captain.

"Where is Taiwan?" He asked. Norrington met his gaze. Had the child finally stopped referring to him as "sir"? He grinned, turning his face toward the hidden heavens.

"It is an island in control of China, to its immediate southeast. It is dangerously close to Singapore, whose stories, I'm afraid, are not appropriate for your young ears." He took a small drink, knowing that Samuel was there to stop him should he begin to drink too much. Samuel smiled and took a similar drink from his flask of water.

"Is Captain Barbossa going to Taiwan, or just us?" He looked to the sky, perhaps searching for stars.

"Captain Barbossa's route," Norrington said, "is for Singapore. And we will, of course, join him." Samuel's features faltered slightly. Norrington caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. "I have studied your map many times, and each time I am left wondering what it is that is calling the two of us to that island. You see," he leaned closer to the boy, "I dreamed of a woman who handed me a map, and you dream of me handing _you_ a map. Surely, this is not coincidence." A drink, then he continued. "This woman, whoever she is, seems to be guiding the both of us to the same location, and only by working together can we find it."

Samuel smiled widely. He matched Norrington drink-for-drink once again.

"Now, I must ask you not to speak of this to Mr. Gillette, or any of the other officers. Nathan would laugh terribly at my expense." He shook his head and took another swig. "When the time comes, you and I shall make our journey to Taiwan." He made to pat the boy on the head, but paused, feeling the gesture too condescending. So he placed his hand on Samuel's shoulder and offered a friendly grin. It was mirrored immediately.

"All I'm saying," Gillette's voice rang suddenly as the rest of his dinner party exited the captain's cabin, "is that a broken spar is really something I don't place much interest in." Apparently, he had been displeased with the table's conversations. Norrington tried not to laugh, taking one more drink before stoppering his bottle and stashing it inside a coil of rope.

"Sorry for leaving you, gentlemen," Norrington said with a straight face. "I simply needed a stronger drink for the conversation at hand." Samuel covered his mouth with his hands to keep the laughter inside. Gillette made a small, "aha!" sound and turned to Buckler.

"So my disinterest is a common factor! I am not the only one of us bored to tears with all this speak of broken spars and torn sails!"

Buckler gave a gruff laugh that Norrington was sure he wouldn't have used unless the lieutenant wasn't alone in his need for a stiff drink.

"All right, Mr. Gillette, I'll leave my broken spars for a different ear."

The men each went their seperate directions, Norrington still standing with Samuel, arms crossed in an almost father-like stance.

"You should get to your hammock, young Samuel."

"Why 'young Samuel'?" He asked, topping off his flask. "Am I to call you 'old Captain Norrington'?" In response, Norrington laughed, full-smiled and eyes closed in amusement.

"I'm not quite so old as you would like to believe. Fine, then, simply Samuel will do."

The boy bobbed excitedly, then was off for his hammock. Norrington remained, traveling to the bow, rum in hand, to stare at the lamps shining brightly from the _Agrias_ with a not-so-latent desire burning brighter with every drink that ran down his throat.

* * *

He dreamt of the woman again. She still spoke no words to him. Her image was clearer-- bloodshot eyes, blackened teeth, natty hair and tattooed face. Yet, there was an intense charisma that surrounded her, drawing one into her despite the immediate repulsion.

This time, she beckoned him further into her dwelling, the smells of rotting animal flesh and the clean, brown earth mingling with strange spices and plants unknown to his palate. This time, she handed him a smaller roll of parchment, the picture of a man upon it. An asian man stared back at him through the parchment, with the bold words "WANTED-- PIRATE" printed beneath it.

Suddenly, the man was beside him, real as life, sword drawn. As Norrington drew his own sword to counter the attack, Lord Cutler Beckett sliced them both through with the barnacle-encrusted sword of Davy Jones.

Norrington woke, feeling the perviously searing pain through his shoulder where Beckett had shoved Jones' sword. He knew that no scar would show, nor would he feel the pain again. He dressed, looking out the wide windows at the dark sea beyond. The sun had barely risen, and thus the outline of a parrot sitting outside his window had gone largely unnoticed until the moment he had buttoned his shirt halfway.

He strode out on deck, forgetting the rest of his shirt, and called to Cotton's parrot. _No_, he corrected himself, _Christopher Parrot._ He still smiled at the name.

The bird whistled familiarly as it perched on Norrington's shoulder and appeared to read William's scratchy handwriting. They were nearing China, so said Barbossa. Once in Singapore, they would replenish their supplies and head out into the sea to find Davy Jones' Locker. Will sent his word to Samuel that he had found a sword to fit his stature, and would hand it to him when they landed in Singapore. Elizabeth sent her well-wishes to everyone aboard, and Norrington embarrassedly felt his heart turn over.

Norrington began to write a reply, when an idea suddenly seized him. He scribbled the note on the back of Will's short notice, and moved to reattach it to Christopher Parrot's leg. It squawked unnecessarily.

"Take this straight to Elizabeth. No one else is to receive this, is that clear?"

"Wind in yer sails!"

With that, he allowed the parrot to fly off back to the _Agrias_.

The note came back, a dark, feminine handwriting bold directly below Norrington's own words.

_I'd love to._

The sun was more than halfway through the sky when Singapore appeared in their sights. It was foreign, and almost frighteningly so. The ships were smaller, and seemingly made of paper. It was a wonder they managed to float, Norrington thought with a shudder. A myriad of voices in languages he didn't know shouted back and forth between the tiny ships, throwing lines here and there, nets dragging behind, and even men jumping from boat to boat as they crowded the water was a common sight. Smells, mostly of fish and seafood, filled the air. Foreign spices, foreign wood and oil, foreign everything. He felt suddenly ill at ease, knowing he didn't belong.

Samuel didn't feel the same way. He was leaning over the edge of the ship, watching everything as it went by the hull. He pointed at the gleaming fish caught in the nets, men cooking aboard the paper boats, and chains of boats held together by strong lines of rope to form something of a barrier. He pointed and smiled, turning to Norrington, asking what this and that was. Norrington smiled weakly in return, rarely able to provide an answer.

Gillette knew more than the captain did, explaining what the small boats were for, what types of fish were caught in the nets, and sometimes even able to identify the smells that puzzled Norrington's brain. He leaned, child-like, on the railing to match Samuel. They made a pair, that was for sure.

As they neared the dock, Norrington could see a wall of bodies coming to meet them. Merchants, beggars, and children of every age were present to see the English boats tie up. Apparently, they were rare in these waters, save for the East India Trading Company. Lines were thrown down and were met with a mixture of languages. While the ships were tied down, the whole lines of dialogue between men were garbled by the barrier of language. The gangplank was lowered, and Gillette, Buckler and Wainscot left immediately, following captain's orders. They were followed by a handful of midshipmen who were to help with delivery and perhaps to put more heads together for translation. Samuel and Norrington stayed aboard until the sea of humans had ebbed.

The two stood at the edge of the dock, staring out at the lapping sea as the yellow sun began to sink further, turning the water orange in its descent. Samuel sat eventually, dangling his bare feet into the water. They were content to wait in silence, letting the strange sights, sounds and smells assault them separately. Norrington turned when there was a sudden but expected hand on his shoulder. Elizabeth met his gaze with a smile.

"Are you gents ready?" She asked, dolled up in full pirate regalia. She had tucked her hair under a hat, just as she had done when she'd found Norrington in Tortuga. Her shirt was loose and jacket sufficiently torn, boots sufficiently tatty. He smiled vaguely, memories and current images clashing and mingling. Elizabeth shifted her eyes to Samuel when Norrington found he couldn't look away. The boy was standing, shoes mysteriously on his feet again.

"Yes," Norrington said at last, cursing himself for not finding his voice sooner. "The only matter now is renting the boat. I do hope they accept our currency."

The three of them walked as nonchalantly as possible across the wharf, looking for a boat that might possibly be chartered. Elizabeth was the one to find it and, thank God, the man piloting spoke English, though it was broken and heavily accented. Norrington held out a coin purse that felt strangely heavy in his hands. The last of the pay Beckett had given him for his final shipment.

"Take us to Taiwan."

* * *

AN: I know it's short: please forgive me! It took me forever to write this, and now I must break the sad news. I'll be on vacation in Canada from Aug. 2 to Aug. 13. Since the internet does not exist in Canada, I'll be unable to post a new chapter for a while. BUT! I intend to write chapters while I'm gone, so expect an update as soon as I get back, one if not two chapters! So, good and bad news. I hope you like this one even though it's miserably short and I should die for posting it, but OH WELL. It's late and I'm tired. Love to everyone, and I wish you the best in my absence. Happy reading!  



	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

The bartering of passage had taken far less time than any of them had hoped. The man, hardly shorter than Elizabeth, had been thankful for the money, English or not, and seemed to communicate well enough. He ushered the three of them onto the deck of the seemingly unstable boat. As the short captain and his only deckhand went about getting the boat ready to make way, Norrington's opinion on the fragile appearance of the boat was already adjusting itself. While from a distance the sails seemed no more than paper and the decks fragile timbers, once a body was aboard, one felt the strength in shuddering through every board and every line. Samuel moved straight for the railing to watch the stout rope be cast off by small, expert hands and the wind catch in the playful sails.

Elizabeth tried to hide her gleeful smile as she admired the pair Samuel McCormick and James Norrington made. The boy would make a sharp motion toward some point of interest, and his taller companion would lean forward on the railing to catch a glimpse of whatever it was he had seen. Identical grins seized their faces, watching the others' reaction. She watched the both of them, without their knowing, catching them at their most candid. Only once did Norrington turn his head and catch her eye, both turning to face the other direction quicker than expected.

The boats they passed in the floating marketplace offered a tantalizing plethora of living and deceased animals, sweet-smelling spices, linens and European-style dresses, all for sale in a myriad of tongues known to no one aboard save the small captain and his silent deckhand. Samuel didn't care, leaning placidly against the railing and simply letting the port overwhelm his senses.

The sun finally vanished from the watery horizon, bringing a heavy dusk on the three of them. Once the stars began to appear, the port of Singapore was quickly disappearing behind them. Norrington leaned over the rudder, watching the black specks of the _Gorgon_ and the _Agrias_ bob in the retreating distance. Gillette would be angry with him for not bringing him on the journey, but it would be over quickly and he was sure the man would have been bored out of his mind. They would question his disappearance, and surely Elizabeth's presence would be missed. Questions might be raised as to the planned timeliness of the situation, but Norrington shrugged them off casually. Should William decide to finally run him through for this final trespass, he decided that his goal was well-protected in Gillette's hands. A faint smile tugged at the edges of his mouth.

Samuel had disappeared below into the small cabin assigned to guests aboard the boat. Norrington failed to remember the intricate Chinese pronunciation of the boat's name, and therefore decided to simply refer to it as _The Boat_. He opened the creaking door to the cramped quarters to find a sleeping Samuel curled in a silent ball on the damp mattress. Norrington stifled a yawn, realizing that his own tiredness had snuck up on him.

With a cautious flop, Norrington lay down on the opposite side of the mattress, feeling around for the scratchy woolen blanket. He tucked it around Samuel's small body, allowing himself a modest corner to cover his midsection. A shadow in the doorway caught his eye, and he looked up with sleep-blurred vision. Elizabeth shifted embarrassedly to her other foot, watching Norrington's strange blanket ritual. He leaned on one elbow, propping himself up in a strangely impromptu way.

"I don't bite, Elizabeth," he said pointedly, wishing he had said something less banal. She offered an almost sarcastic smile. "I will gladly give you my share of the mattress--"

"No," Elizabeth said, too quick but also not quick enough. She saw the awkwardness in her objection. "Don't, on my behalf..."

"Despite my newfound occupation, or lack thereof, I am still a man of honor."

He vacated his spot beside Samuel, giving Elizabeth no other choice. She sat quietly beside the sleeping boy, curling her legs beneath her. Her eyes questioned, "And what about you?" so he quickly answered for her.

"I shall find my own method of sleep. Perhaps I'll keep a weather eye for Taiwan. You give Samuel the company he deserves." He managed to crack a smile before heading off for the deck above. Elizabeth's eyes were still bored into his skull, no matter how many times he closed his eyes to the darkness.

The sea and the sky melded in blackness, one swallowing the other, both dotted with fiery stars. One set was as real as the heart beating in Norrington's chest, while the other was false and dimly reflected. A third set, those reflected in his eyes, were flat and lifeless. His lids closed softly as he leaned on the railing, watching the stars dance in the water while lying stagnant in the sky. A smile, then complete darkness took him.

He woke from dreamless sleep with the stars still sitting silent in a lightening sky. The faint outline of some land mass greeted him in the half-darkness, and the gulls flew quietly above him, wings rustling pleasantly with the soft breeze. The wind smelled differently here. A low ache in his heart told him how much he missed the sweet scent of the Caribbean-- the palms, the crystal water. Here, even the sound of the waves felt exotic.

The single deckhand stood beside him, tanned and muscled despite his stature. Norrington secretly relished his height, something he had taken for granted among the men he was familiar with. This deckhand, whose name he had found to be either Lang or Long for he answered to both, was silent and followed orders wordlessly. His long, perfectly black hair was braided behind him in an immaculate queue. Norrington offered a sideways smile, and the man tried to return it.

"I don't suppose you speak English, do you?" He asked uselessly. Lang-Long cocked his head in an almost comic way. Norrington shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning on the railing before him. "No, I didn't suppose you could. With my disastrous luck, you might have been a beautiful woman." A beautiful woman, such as the one sleeping beside Samuel McCormick at that moment. He silently cursed himself for bringing it up.

Lang-Long had wandered off again, probably to shore up a sail or somesuch. Another long half hour dragged by, the sun finding the sky and taking up its usual route without complication. The breeze combed its fingers through Norrington's hair as he watched the gray outline of Taiwan become slowly more detailed. After uncounted minutes staring at the shoreline as it approached, Long-Lang pressed a warm cup into his hands. It steamed in the cooler air and Norrington held it to his nose. It was tea, but to his surprise it tasted of silken herbs rather than the common leaf used in British tea. He smiled his thanks to the deckhand, who nodded and moved off again.

The Chinese tea was soothing down his throat, and he was thankful once again for the retreat from the usual drink of choice of the East India Trading Company. His heart balked momentarily, his mind retreating to the grinning face of Cutler Beckett aboard the _Valor_, turning slightly and mocking him with the simple phrase, "Sparrow is dead." The visage of a calculative madman, smirking in halflight, having every upper-hand possible. The navy of Port Royal-- and who knew how many others?-- and now Davy Jones at his command. The very thought of his _Gorgon_ against an armada that size made him cold through his core. He allowed himself another long draught of tea.

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Norrington extended his hand to help Elizabeth down from the gangplank. She took it without second thought. As according to Samuel's dream that night, they had not pulled into a port when Taiwan peeked its head above the waves. A deserted stretch of beach served their purpose much better. The foliage seemed to alleviate Samuel's worries, and he joyfully accompanied the two of them off of the boat. Norrington had pleaded with the captain to stay moored until the three of them returned, and an additional payment secured that purpose. The sand gave slightly under Norrington's weight, and he glanced warily at the bamboo-infested stretch of forest awaiting them.

"Why is it we couldn't set in at the port?" Elizabeth asked, looking well-rested and glad to be off the ship.

"A feeling, Miss Elizabeth," Samuel said, exchanging a glance with his captain, "that there might be something more interesting over this way." She still hadn't asked why the two of them had wanted her along, and Norrington had been glad of it. It had been a sudden urge of his, and he knew that she would enjoy the adventure, no matter how short it turned out to be. Not to mention his selfish wish to be beside Elizabeth, no matter the reason. Norrington unsheathed his sword to keep his mind from that particular reason. The surf caught his legs in its spray, causing Elizabeth to retreat further up the beach along with Samuel.

"Lead the way, young Samuel," Norrington prompted, taking his blade to the nearest swath of bamboo and cutting it down to prepare a path. He pulled the boy closer in confidentiality. "I believe that neither of us know exactly what it is we are looking for, but I do know that you have a bit more of an inkling than I do." Samuel gave a strained nod, then took Norrington's sword as it was given to him. He grinned as the fine blade cut through the bamboo saplings in his way. A true pirate at heart.

Norrington cast an eye upon Elizabeth, who grinned, pulled her hat closer against her head, and followed the boy into the underbrush. Norrington copied her stance and kept a close beat.

The thick green foliage soon brought the morning sun beating down upon them. Norrington's sword, heavy but well-maintained in Samuel's hand, sliced here and there at an arrant branch or stick of bamboo. Despite the sweat running thick down his young face, he was smiling with sword in hand, precisely where he wanted to be. Between the wide world and Captain Norrington, with a sword in his hand and a dream in his heart.

Elizabeth's hat was discarded, waving air into her face, hair still tied up to keep her neck cool. Her adventurous grin had faded, but had not left entirely. The reason for her continued grin was was currently trudging behind her, swatting absently at a circling insect. Norrington was not accustomed to delightful excursions into the jungle, his last ending in a sword fight atop a rather large, spinning wheel. Therefore, he held a rather sour outlook on the verdancy on the whole and expressed it with every movement that he made. He attempted to look amused for Samuel's sake, but with the whip of a branch to the face, he was beginning to regret his involvement.

"You're sure that this will help us save Jack?" Elizabeth asked, more for Norrington's sake than her own. She was glad to be free of cramped quarters. Samuel looked over his shoulder, smiling his childish smile as he took another swipe at the vegetation before him.

"Mr. Sparrow?" Samuel asked. "Is that what Captain Norrington told you?"

Elizabeth turned a wary eye on the man behind her, who shrugged innocently.

Suddenly, Samuel came to a halt. The sword was at his side, eyes forward into the leaves. Elizabeth turned inquisitively to Norrington, who came up alongside the boy, leaning a hand on his shoulder. Elizabeth followed in suit, leaning a hand on Norrington's shoulder to listen in.

"Samuel?" Norrington asked, following his gaze into the brush.

"He's here," Samuel said cryptically. He turned wide eyes to his captain, and fear was reflected there. Elizabeth quickly unsheathed her own sword, but remained at Norrington's side. He knew instantly the man Samuel spoke of. An intense-eyed, sword-weilding pirate of Orient import, sly and deadly-- and they hadn't even met. But he knew. _She_ had showed him.

His sword was suddenly in his hand again. Samuel had traded it for his smaller dagger. The three of them had begun to back away from their spots, keeping cautious eyes aware of their surroundings. Norrington circled, hand reaching for the stolen derringer still stuck into his belt.

"I wouldn't," came a low dark voice inches from his ear, "if you enjoy life."

His heart caught somewhere between his stomach and his throat. His hand slowly retreated from his pistol, and he held up his hands, one of which had discarded his sword on the grassy ground at his feet. He could still hear the crashing of waves.

A strangled voice just behind him caused the man to whip around in terror.

"James," Elizabeth choked, sword placed gently over her jugular. It took Samuel's shaking hand on his arm to keep from leaping forward. Frightened eyes met, each without anything to give the other. They were surrounded, and they couldn't even glimpse their captors' faces. All save one.

He stood, grinning with a mouthful of yellowed teeth, just behind Elizabeth, his chipped sword dancing above her skin. She flinched from the jagged edge, looking equal parts terrified and disgusted by the man's smell. He matched her in height, something not easily said of other men of Chinese nationality, and his head was clean of any hair. He held a cocky grin, eyes flicking from man to boy effortlessly and without hurry.

"Well, hello," he said in nearly perfect English marred only by his dark accent, turning his face to press up against Elizabeth's cheek. She hissed in disgust, turning her face away. Norrington tensed, Samuel holding him back simply by keeping a hold on his arm. Their captor gave Elizabeth an appraising look. "Too good for a pirate, aye?"

"I assure you," she replied through clenched teeth, "that not all pirates are created equal, _sir_."

"That's Captain to you, Miss Elizabeth," the man retorted. Norrington flinched. They had been followed for quite some time. She was silent. He held the sword closer to her neck, bringing a dry cry from her lips. Norrington made to move boldly forward, but found that someone other than Samuel was holding him back. A small, dirty pirate, the same nationality as his captain, was holding Norrington's arms dangerously behind his back.

"_Captain_," Elizabeth muttered barely above her breath. The captain smiled dangerously, drinking in Elizabeth through his eyes.

"Stop that!" Norrington shouted at last, struggling against the grip of his captor, who apparently was stronger than he let on. The captain looked up as if seeing Norrington for the first time. He took in Norrington with one swoop of the eyes.

"And you might be?"

"Captain Norrington," he spat back, fire in his eyes. "And I expect a name from you before we speak any further."

"Captain Norrington," the asian man repeated in mocking undertones, "you will be the death of this woman if you do not stop talking." Norrington quickly took the hint, stepping back slightly to where Samuel and his own captor stood to the left. "That's better."

Norrington tried his hardest not to growl in anger.

"It comes to my attention that you know a certain Jack Sparrow," the captain said, still facing Norrington. It was obvious who was the head of operations. Norrington, not wishing to speak, simply nodded his head jerkily. "Well, isn't that fortunate? Otherwise I might have done away with the lady here and now." He pressed the sword against Elizabeth's neck, and she bit her lip to keep the worried cries in.

Though they obviously spoke little or no English, the surrounding pirates chuckled mirthlessly. Their captain joined them, and he lowered his sword slightly, though it was still trained on Elizabeth.

"Jack Sparrow has something that I want," the captain said, still to Norrington. "It's been a long time since dear old Jack came to visit his friend Sao Feng in Singapore." He gave Norrington a knowing glance, then looked to Elizabeth. "I would very much like to see him again."

"He's dead," Norrington said quickly.

Silence seized the congregation, and Elizabeth held her breath. Then, a wide, ugly smile broke on Captain Feng's features. At his reaction, the rest of his crew broke into laughter. Feng joined them, his laughter barking in quick bursts.

"The English are terrible liars, as I have come to find, Captain Norrington." He held the sword tight against Elizabeth's neck again, all humor gone from his face. "I should like to see our friend Captain Sparrow. Perhaps as much as you should like to see this woman alive again."

"Don't--" Norrington growled, testing the strength of his captor's hold as he surged forward. Feng appraised his movement, and Norrington knew he had made a mistake as soon as the man grinned cruelly.

"You find me Jack Sparrow, you find yourself holding this woman again." His bargaining was as straightforward as Sparrow's was twisted. "How does that sound for a deal?"

Norrington found the ire in his throat made him incapable of meshing coherent thought.

The whole situation was suddenly convoluted as Samuel slipped from the pirate's grip, stabbing him through the knee with his trusty dagger. The man cried out in a language unknown, and Samuel ran forward with murder in his eye, his target the man holding Norrington captive.

"Samuel!" Norrington tried. But as soon as the word had escaped him, he felt the hard hilt of a sword come crashing down against his skull. Lights flashed before his eyes, and as he fell, he heard the screams and crashing of foliage that could only indicate Feng dashing away with his prize. His vision had gone dark long before he hit the ground.

He awoke what felt like moments later to the sound of the sloshing sea and the sobbing of a ten-year-old boy. He tried sitting up quickly, only to be met with stars clouding his vision. He held an aggravated hand to his forehead before searching for the cries of Samuel McCormick. He was found quickly, only seven feet from where he had lain, knees curled up to his chest and the body of a slain sailor of Captain Feng at his feet. Samuel was covered in foreign blood, and his eyes were shot from the tears pouring from them.

"C-Captain," he choked, eyes widening. "You're all right?"

"Fine," Norrington uttered, feeling the dryness of his throat. "What--?"

"I killed him," Samuel said with a watery voice. "He was going to kill you."

Norrington stood silently, wobbling as he made his way to Samuel. He wordlessly pulled the boy to his feet and held him close in a fatherly embrace. Samuel choked again, letting more tears fall from his eyes.

"Th-They took Miss E-Elizabeth," Samuel sobbed against Norrington's chest. Norrington comfortingly stroked the boy's hair.

"We'll get her back," Norrington assured him. And the strength in his voice not only convinced the boy, but himself. And it was he who needed it the most.

"How? If we can't find Captain Sparrow--"

"We don't need Captain Sparrow," Norrington answered quickly. "All we need is the proper leverage, and anything is possible." He extracted Samuel from his death grip on his midsection. "We need Captain Barbossa, damn him."

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AN: Okay, a buncha things to say. First off, SORRY for delaying so long after vacation. I had an uber going away party because I'm going to college here pretty soon. I also caught a ginormous fishy in case anyone's wondering what I was doing in Canada. Secondly, FF.n isn't letting me use the page breaks, so I have to go all ghetto on you. Sorry 'bout that too. Thirdly, I finally introduced that danged new character. I don't know a lot about Cap'n Feng so forgive me if you think I could do better. Fourthly, SO SORRY it's taking so long to get to Jack. It;s just the way things go I guess. SO to make up for all the sorries, I give you my longest chapter yet! Go me! Huzzah, and happy reading!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

He wondered what in the name of God had made them go to Taiwan.

A woman-- not even a real woman, simply a fabrication of the sleeping mind!-- had told him to go to Taiwan. She had told his aide to memorize the map to Taiwan. She had insisted that the two of them journey to that island.

_But she had not insisted that Elizabeth join the expedition_.

No, she hadn't. That had been his fault.

Staring down the steel blade of William Turner did not alleviate his concerns.

The red sun of evening was dark upon the three of them as they stood in a semi-circle around Norrington and Samuel. Will's sword was quivering with hatred mere centimeters from Norrington's face. Barbossa fumed wordlessly with firebrand eyes. And strangely Gillette met Norrington's gaze with cold, wounded eyes. Norrington stood protectively before Samuel, who had wept silently through most of their journey back to Singapore. His only defense was a half-hearted grin of a hopeful nature.

"Where's Elizabeth?" Will growled, barely above his breath. He looked ready to shove the sword straight through Norrington's neck. This time, the figure of Samuel did not quell the man's bloodlust. The look in Gillette's eyes softened slightly, but his arms remained crossed.

"We don't even know if they took Miss Swann with them, Mr. Turner." He eyed the two of them, as if hoping they would claim something to that effect. Norrington's upturned eyebrows brought Gillette's hopes crashing around his ankles.

"Let me explain," Norrington began, but stopped as Will's sword dared itself closer. Samuel's grip on Norrington's arm suddenly relinquished itself as the boy stepped forward and crossed the blade of his dagger with the blacksmith's sword. He was the most taken aback, but not the only one of them. Barbossa seemed to be the only man with anything but surprise in his eyes.

"I'll protect Captain Norrington if I have to," Samuel said in a low voice. Silence was all William Turner could return at the sight of such a small boy defending this traitor, this vagabond, this--

"Put down yer sword, Mr. Turner," came the unexpected voice of Barbossa, who had, until then, remained silent. "We'll hear what the good Captain has t' say in his defense, then kill 'im if the occasion calls for it." He shot Samuel the smallest of appraising glances. The boy caught it oddly, faltering for a moment, then returned his attentions to Will.

He regrettably lowered his sword to his side, ready should he need it. Samuel shoved the dagger into his belt, keeping a sharp eye on William. Norrington crossed his arms and lowered his head in thought.

"A woman told Samuel and I to travel to Taiwan," he began, ready to lay everything on the table. Will gave him a demeaning look.

"A woman on the wharf tells you to go to Taiwan, and you take Elizabeth with you?"

"No," he answered quickly. _It's much worse_. "I saw her in a dream." Two perplexed looks and one exasperated pair of eyes met his. "A dark woman, with charismatic eyes and teeth a shade of death." Will's incredulous gaze faltered only slightly. "In a dress not meant for her, with hair as long and unwashed as Sparrow's."

Barbossa and Will exchanged a glance. Gillette seemed more puzzled than any other man present. Will finally sheathed his sword, much to Norrington's surprise.

"What was her name?" Will asked, as some sort of final test. Norrington's mind was blank-- she had never said a word.

"Dalma," Samuel said in a meek voice. "Tia Dalma." He looked up to receive the mixed reception of Will's astounded eyes and another appreciative smile from Captain Barbossa.

Norrington and Gillette were finally on the same wavelength of total incomprehension. After the short silence, Norrington leaned forward slightly to allow himself back into the conversation.

"Do you know her?"

Will cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes," he said at last, finding that explanation appropriate.

"A very good friend o' mine," Barbossa interjected with yellowed teeth and a low, guttural laugh.

"You still haven't told us what's happened to Elizabeth," Will cut in harshly, remembering his previous ire. "Why would you take her with you to Taiwan?"

Norrington gave him a sad shrug. "I felt she might like the adventure."

"Sorry t' bring my incredulity t' the table _Captain_ Norrington," Barbossa said with his hat cocked to one side, "but aren't we on a bit of an adventure as it is?"

"Yes, I understand," Norrington growled, fiercer than he had expected. "I acted rashly and as a direct result Elizabeth--"

Will unintentionally leaned forward as if to brace himself for the blow. Norrington squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to be run through by Turner's sword at any given moment.

"We were ambushed, and they've taken Elizabeth as leverage."

Will might have received a shot to the heart and not looked quite so devastated. He stumbled backwards slightly, steadied by Gillette. When, after a few moments, he had regained composure, his fiery eyes looked angrily in Norrington's direction.

"You--"

"What I may or may not have done is no more significant than anything Samuel may have done," Norrington rebutted, standing firm. "What matters now is getting Elizabeth back safely."

Will didn't look ready to accept this quite as easily as Norrington had hoped. The pain and the fire remained locked in his eyes, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.

"He's right," Gillette ventured, suddenly quailing under the combined stares of Will and Barbossa. "Isn't he? Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to fix anything."

"Aye," Barbossa resigned heavily. He looked toward Norrington again. "Who was it that y' say took Miss Swann?"

"Feng," Norrington said, as if the name were foul taste in his mouth.

Barbossa was suddenly completely attentive.

"_Sao_ Feng? _Captain_ Sao Feng?"

Norrington furrowed his eyebrows at the man, cocking his head inquisitively. "Yes."

Barbossa uncrossed his arms and placed them on his hips, shaking his head slightly. "Damn me eyes... Captain Sao Feng." He turned his head slightly toward Will. "Yer lovely lass picked the right pirate t' get herself kidnapped by, Mr. Turner. I know how to deal with Captain Sao Feng."

"You know him?" Samuel asked. Barbossa nodded, looking out into the glimmering harbor.

"Aye, haven't seen 'im since he were a little younger'n Mr. Turner here. Youngest captain to sail out o' Singapore. Y' might think he and Jack were brothers, back then."

"Jack Sparrow," Norrington said lowly, remembering the other part of the deal. He looked up with knit eyebrows. "He wants Jack Sparrow in return for Elizabeth."

Gillette rolled his eyes. "Is there anyone who _doesn't_ want to settle a debt or strike a deal with Sparrow?"

"We have to go after her," Will said at last. He had recovered, and was standing tall once again. "I don't care what he wants. We can fight our way through."

"We may not have to, lad," Barbossa said in a throaty growl. "Tell the men t' get the anchor up. We're headin' to Taiwan." With a flourish, he turned back toward the _Agrias _and away from the confused men on the wharf. Will, after a strained look toward Norrington, turned in a huff to follow his captain. Samuel and Gillette turned to Norrington, who, after watching the back of the retreating man, nodded.

"Samuel, tell Mr. Buckler to have the ship ready to make weigh." The boy seemed unready to leave Norrington's side, but saluted and made his way toward the _Gorgon._ This left James Norrington and Nathaniel Gillette standing at the edge of the pier, the red sun coloring everything in its path like blood.

Norrington turned to the water, allowing the sun to warm his skin with its waning rays. Gillette approached him, following his gaze with his arms behind his back. Some creature created ripples in the water near them, and Norrington felt a long sigh exit his frame.

"I would have come, should you have asked," Gillette ventured, the obvious wound of the lack of invitation practically open on his flesh.

"I know, Nathan." He passed a weary hand over his eyes. "That is why I did not ask you to come." He met Gillette's eyes sadly.

"James--"

"Do you remember, such a short time ago, when you abandoned the_ Gorgon_ for Isla Asilo?" He lowered his voice only slightly. "I remember watching the back of my sole companion disappear against the sea. Remember that, Nathan, and remember that you are my friend." He placed a hand on Gillette's shoulder. "And now we sail for Taiwan to rescue fair maiden." This caused Gillette's mouth to break into a grin-- and again, they were pirates.

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Finding the beach they had moored themselves on previously proved to be easier than he had hoped. Dropping anchor offshore and taking two longboats out each, the somewhat diminished crews of the _Gorgon_ and the _Agrias_ came to Taiwan.

Norrington had brought with him Samuel, Gillette, Buckler and another boat and a half full of assorted crewmen, leaving Wainscot aboard to keep an eye on things there. He was met by Barbossa, Will Turner, Mr. Gibbs, Cotton and his parrot, a rather short fellow, as well as both pirates that had returned him to the _Gorgon_ that morning so long ago. He saw many crew members he had not associated with while aboard the _Agrias_, and prayed that Barbossa knew how to keep the pirates in line.

"What manner of crew does that man command?" Buckler asked, staring at the rabble assembling behind Barbossa. Norrington turned with a grin.

"We're all pirates here, Mr. Buckler." He still held his smile as he turned to watch Will Turner from across the beach. "There are some of us here who may not know, but we are all pirates." He turned again to Buckler. "Should things get out of hand, I want you to stick close to Samuel. Bring him back to the longboats as soon as possible, and remain until the rest of the crew returns." The orders were clear enough, but a man as wizened as Buckler could feel the patronly undercurrents of the statement. He offered a salty grin.

"Aye, sir."

Norrington and Samuel were to lead the expedition, following their trail into the bamboo forest and finding the exact spot where they had lost Elizabeth. Will followed Norrington hotly, his eyes level and lethal. One spark could ignite him, Norrington felt, and he rightly kept his distance. He cursed himself for once again finding his place on the young man's bad side, and he knew that Elizabeth, already captured by Chinese pirates, would most likely be pushed further into anger by Norrington's provocation of her fiancee.

He stopped suddenly to find the body of his captor of the previous morning still lying face down in a pool of his own congealed blood. Samuel stared down with a clenched jaw, lest any leftover emotion try to pry itself from him. Norrington turned to Barbossa, a hand on his aide's shoulder.

"This is where Feng _graced_ us with his presence," Norrington scowled, and rightly so. Barbossa strode into the clearing and swept his eyes over Samuel's kill. He looked to the boy, who drove his eyes determinedly into the ground at the corpse's feet. Barbossa gave half a crooked grin.

"Aye, that it seems to be. But now I think I'll be takin' over our little expedition, Mr. Norrington." He pulled his sword from its sheath with practiced celerity, and Samuel jumped to hide behind Norrington from the shock. The elder captain cut into the verdancy from which Feng and his crew materialized and was off again. Norrington shot Will a glance that questioned without words whether his captain was apt to fly off in fits of madness often. Will's blood-red facade dropped momentarily, long enough for him to return Norrington's gaze with his own, and a small shrug, after which he followed Barbossa into the brush. Norrington herded Samuel with an arm over the boy's shoulders and fell into step alongside Gillette.

"What's this I hear about a daring rescue?" Gillette attempted to bring the life back to Samuel's clouded eyes. "Apparently it was quite the feat to witness."

"Without this young man, Nathan," Norrington said with truthfulness, "the men of the _Gorgon_ would be referring to you as Captain Gillette."

The look sparkling in Gillette's eye playfully retorted, _Why did he save the Captain, again?_

The pirates moved through the bamboo forest as quietly as four longboats-worth of pirates can over unfamiliar terrain. Barbossa was doing a wonderful job of remaining conspicuous, chopping away at branches as Samuel had done on their first leg of the trip. Before long, the sun was nearly directly overhead. That was when the voices returned.

"Back again, Captain Norrington?" Feng's voice materialized from the surroundings, revealing nothing. "And without Jack Sparrow. What a shame."

The snickering of Feng's crew surrounded them.

"Now, that's no way t' be talkin' t' my esteemed guest, is it, Captain Feng?" Barbossa asked, his hacking and slashing of the Chinese flora ceased abruptly at Feng's voice.

Silence. Norrington took his eyes from Barbossa to stare worriedly at Gillette.

In the mere second it took to switch his gaze, Norrington heard the swish and clang of sword exiting sheath and meeting head-on with another weapon. He whipped his head to stare at Barbossa again, Sao Feng suddenly standing before him with hooded eyes and intricate curved scimitar against Barbossa's sword.

"Hector Barbossa," Feng chided, curling his lip and sweeping an antagonizing eye over the taller man.

"That's Captain to ye, lad," Barbossa said with a cocky grin. "Got me own ship an' everything." A few dirty pirates of his own laughed this time. Feng stared him down.

"Where's Jack Sparrow?" Feng demanded. He was quick to the punch.

"Where is Miss Swann?" Barbossa countered.

Norrington half-expected a childish, "I asked you first!" to exit Feng's lips, but he was thankfully disappointed. Instead, Feng cocked his head, and a tricky smile appeared on his lips.

"Where is Jack Sparrow?" He asked again, slower. Barbossa threateningly pressed forward, swords screeching in pain.

"Davy Jones' Locker, that's where ye'll find Captain Jack Sparrow! If ye be wantin' Captain Sparrow so badly, why don't ye go an' find him yerself, so to save me the trouble?"

Feng stared Barbossa down, attempting to debunk his lie. But the elder captain's brow was straight, and his eyes hid nothing. Sao Feng suddenly held a completely unflattering look of surprise.

"If Jack Sparrow is dead..." He snapped his fingers, and a man emerged from the foliage, Elizabeth held before him with a dirty gag in her mouth. Both Will and Norrington snapped their attentions to her instantly. She struggled against her captor's grip with an unwomanly growl. "... then so is your Miss Swann."

In the flash of an instant, Feng's sword flew from defending against Barbossa's to meet with Elizabeth's neck. In that same moment, Elizabeth yanked her hands from the guard's grip and picked his sword from where it was stuffed into his belt. The two met with a resounding crash, and deafening silence followed.

Feng stared wide-eyed into Elizabeth's eyes, which narrowed in hate.

Without provocation, swords on each side of the battle-line were drawn, and the battle began.

Barbossa quickly joined Elizabeth's side by slicing toward Sao Feng's unprotected flank. The Chinese captain quickly countered by pulling out a second, equally decorated scimitar to block the attack. He whirled away from the two of them, twin blades flashing in the noon sunlight. Barbossa and Elizabeth exchanged the smallest of glances before she tore the gag from her mouth and the two of them charged after Feng as one.

Gillette drew his sword with navy flourish, moving against two of Feng's pirates at once. Buckler, his own tactics less navy and more pirate, stepped in beside him, sharing the load of banging swords and heavy blows. Gillette threw one of the pirates back and grinned a dangerous grin. He laughed heartily, diving in for another swipe at his foe. Buckler grunted as he and his rudimentary sword skills slogged through the battle.

Gibbs, the pirate with the wooden eye and his balding companion charged in with a battle cry of drunken proportions. Gibbs slashed forward with his sword and brought a heavy bottle of rum down against the man's head in the same instant. The two other pirates were astoundingly good at swordfighting considering how terrible they were at everything else. They worked together, slashing high and low at the same enemy, overwhelming him in the close quarters.

Finally, James Norrington and William Turner entered the fray. Two pirates stood before the two of them. Without even needing to glance at one another, they had decided to work together. William met the ground in a roll, practiced study coming in handy. Norrington, as would a prize fencer, lunged forward and parried blow after blow from both Asian pirates. Will exited his roll behind the two and stood remarkably fast, slashing forward in a high arc at the head of one of the pirates. He was quick on his feet and turned to block the blow.

The entire section of forest was suddenly overcome by the noise of battle and death. Swords, pistols, smoke and blood-- bodies tumbling, lunging. Elizabeth and Barbossa worked their hardest to parry the blows from Feng's whirlwind twin blades, ducking and dodging, trying to get a hold on flesh with their own swords. Blow after blow met with steel on steel. Feng crossed his arms, blocking swords at different angles and heights with the quickest ease.

Norrington and Will beat forward, each taking on his own man. Suddenly, without warning, the pirates turned and exchanged partners. Norrington barely adjusted, blocking a blow meant for his neck. Will handled the exchanged much more fluidly. As if in a dance of deadly proportions, both Norrington and Will parried pirates swords to the side, rolling along the backs of their partners to face the pirate they had previously sparred with. Norrington ran his through, then William mirrored his movement. Their own swords met with a loud clang. Brown eyes met steady green in the heat of the moment, then Will nodded, ever-so-slightly, before whirling off in a separate direction.

Barbossa slashed high. Elizabeth slashed low. Each was blocked by the impeccable Captain Feng. He dared a cocky smile. Elizabeth scowled, and proceeded to wedge her foot violently into Feng's groin. His entire grip on reality wavered, the pain surging through him just long enough for Barbossa to circle-parry his sword out of the way and place a heavy boot in the middle of the captain's chest. He fell backward into the bamboo with the green snap of breaking branches.

The action ceased almost immediately as their captain fell. Swords were hanging mid-swing, mid-block as all heads turned to Barbossa and Elizabeth, the former of which had a booted foot resting victoriously on Feng's upturned stomach. Both Elizabeth and Barbossa were holding one of Feng's swords in their off hand. Elizabeth held a sword to Feng's neck in unadulterated anger.

"That was an ungentlemanly move, Miss Swann," Barbossa said with a grin. Elizabeth tossed the hair from her eyes.

"Good thing I'm not a gentleman, then, Captain Barbossa."

Barbossa leaned toward Feng in confidentiality. "I'd tell yer men t' put away their weapons if I were you, Captain Feng."

Silence. It seemed as if the man was still recovering from Elizabeth's blow. Finally, Sao Feng called out something in Chinese in a rather pitiful voice. His sailors looked defeated as they dropped their weapons and relinquished themselves to capture. Norrington, having defeated his last foe, sheathed his sword with a tired sigh.

He turned, his eyes searching for a familiar, short, black-haired companion. He furrowed his brow concernedly.

"Samuel?"

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AN: SO SORRY this is as late as it is. My computer likes to mess up on me as of late, and I've been having trouble with this bit of the story anyway. I hope it lives up to whatever expectations I've set for myself. I hope someone's still reading... -cries- ANYway, hate to leave you with the cliffhanger, but this was almost stupid-long anyway. I'm getting ready for college here on the 31st, so updates may lag. Who knows? Have a happy day, and happy reading!


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